


Unearthed Fire

by EloquentSavage



Series: Blue Bayou [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Bayou, Blue Is Pretty, Cicaidas, Cute Kids, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Druidic Beliefs, Elemental Magic, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Good Parent Derek Hale, Good Parent Stiles Stilinski, Hale Family Feels, Louisiana, M/M, Magic-Users, Magical Bond, Magical Derek Hale, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Multi, New Orleans, Roman Catholicism, Science, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Supernatural Elements, Swamp Witches, Tattooed Stiles, Werewolves, Witches, alternative universe, nematon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloquentSavage/pseuds/EloquentSavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story is completed. Unbeta'd.<br/>Continuation of the <a href="/series/131178">Blue Bayou</a> series. As requested by J. Holmes.<br/>Stiles and Derek are in an established relationship. The story is about half Sterek, half OFC Rebecca Monroe. The story continues with themes of elemental magic, dual possession, shapeshifters, bayou living, swamp witches, muddy feet, and tight knit families. Approximately three years after the original Blue Bayou story takes place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Muddy Waters Vs. Beyonce

Scratchy white noise emanated from the record player downstairs. Muddy Waters had finished a while ago, but no one was there to flip the record. Becca stretched herself out, then turned over, letting her long arm fall to the floor lazily. It was too hot to move, or care about the record player, but it was the only thing that kept her mother quiet on long, weary days like these. 

Getting out of bed was torture. The slow peel of sweaty sheets sticking to her bare legs, having to put on clothes before she could leave her room, and moving. Moving alone was far too much effort for such a hot, sweltering day. The unfairness of having to put on a tank top and cut offs just to change the record was irritating and exhausting. 

Downstairs, Becca flipped the record over and set the needle down carefully. The smooth, deep voice of Muddy Waters told stories of the Mississippi delta that were as familiar to her as her own. Becca could sing along with every word if she wanted to, but Muddy Waters wasn’t her music, it was her mothers. Becca liked Ed Sheeran and Beyonce. They didn't even make records Becca could afford. 

“Hey Mama, can I get you more tea?” Becca leaned over her mother's shoulder and kissed her cheek quickly to get her attention. 

At first her mother gave no response. Her glassy, deep brown eyes watched the woods outside the window. Her chair had been pointed toward that same spot for as long as Becca could remember. The book on her mother's side table was for show. It was the same book that had been sitting there for years. The pages had never been turned. Still, her mother held it sometimes while she watched the forest. It was nothing more than a silent reminder her mother understood how irrational her behavior was in some way. 

“Mom, did you see Daddy today?” Becca asked. 

Immersed in her own thoughts, her mother’s eyes darted across the backyard frantically, like Becca’s words had gotten in, but her mother wasn’t quite aware Becca was actually standing there next to her. After years of the same routine, the same silent longing, broken only by short outbursts of anxiety and manic anger, her mother still clung to the hope that someday Becca’s father might come back. Bobby was proof he came back at least once. No one but her mother believed he was coming back again. 

“Mom...” Becca quietly reminded her mother she was there again. 

“Oh, I’m sorry honey,” her mother said abruptly. She smiled like she was happy to see Becca, then reached up to pat Becca’s cheek fondly. Her mother picked up her reading glasses from around her neck and perched them on the bridge of her nose, then picked up the book, smoothing open the pages before she propped it up in one hand. “I would love some tea, baby. Thank you.” 

School pictures in the hallway between the living room and kitchen proved her mother hadn’t always been the way she was. Gwendoline Monroe, age seventeen, was a beautiful, apple cheeked black woman with perfectly braided hair and a heart stopping grin. Becca had a smile like her mother, and her eyes, but the rest of her was a reminder her father must look very different. He was white most likely, maybe latino. Her skin was olive, like Aunt Melissa, but her hair was bone straight. Not knowing was like a gigantic missing puzzle piece in Becca’s life. One she chose to ignore because getting through each day was sometimes hard enough. 

One day, maybe, Becca would find out who he was. Maybe she would see more of herself in his face than she saw in her mother's, maybe he would be a complete stranger. All she had of him now was her brother, Bobby, and the resentment she held for his ghost. She might count what was left of her mother, if that was really his fault. It was easy to blame him, but no one was sure what happened to Gwen. The woman who pined for him, obsessed over his constant absence, never able to accept he had no intention of returning, used to be present and charming. No one knew what happened to change her, or why it kept getting worse. 

After a decade of watching her mother’s fixation consume her, Becca had long since given up on Gwen ever being like she used to be. Gwen had never been perfect, but she used to take good care of Bobby when they were little. Something changed abruptly when Bobby was a toddler. Gwen woke up one day and just didn't care anymore. Back then Becca was too little. She didn't know she was supposed to do something about it. She let Bobby cry until aunt Trudy came to see what was wrong. Trudy didn’t leave much after that until she found out she was pregnant with Tommy. Then she stayed close, but let Becca do more on her own because she wanted to. 

Everyone was around to help, but they let Becca decide how she, Bobby and Gwen lived. It was okay because she and Bobby understood each other. They got along just fine, they wanted the same things. Carbon copies, Aunt Trudy said, they looked so much like each other. Neither of them resembled the other Monroes though. It was enough proof for them, and everyone else, they had the same father. Becca sometimes wondered if one day when Bobby was grown she would see a familiar face from their past. Someone from town, or someone who passed through to visit the nematon maybe. Bobby was only eleven, so she probably had a few years to wait. 

Adding a bit of stevia into the sweet, mint tea cut down the sugar Becca used to make the tea how her mother liked. Less sugar meant less anxiety they had learned. Everything little bit helped. When she put the pitcher of tea back in the refrigerator, Becca noticed all the beer was still there from last week. She had forgotten to take it to Stiles. It was no wonder her mom was fixated. She had probably checked first thing in the morning and noticed they were all still there. 

“Here you go Mama," Becca said as she walked into the living room. "I’m going to the parish house. I’ll bring you home some lunch, okay? You want ham from last night, maybe a sandwich?” she asked. 

“Yes honey, thank you,” Gwen said as she put the book down to take the tea. “I’ll be happy with whatever you bring me.” Her mother’s large, happy smile almost looked genuine, but her eyes never quite crinkled around the edges. 

“Okay, promise me you’ll get up and change the record if Bobby isn’t here?” Becca asked. It was a long shot, but sometimes her mother surprised her. 

“Of course honey.” Her mother nodded and took a sip of her tea, her eyes flitting back toward the window quickly. “Has your father been by yet? Did you see him?” she asked. Gwen held her hand out like she had only just thought of the question, as if she hadn't been fixating on it for hours. 

“Half the beers are gone. You know what that means,” Becca assured her. 

“Oh, I thought I counted six this morning...” her mother’s eyes darted to the tree line, like she hoped to catch a glimpse of him walking away. 

“No, there’s only three,” Becca lied, but in a moment it would be the truth. 

“He was certainly gone a while this time, but you know how he is.” Her mother sighed quietly and relaxed into the chair, her worries gone for the moment. 

Becca quietly opened the refrigerator and pulled out three bottles of the imported, red label beer. She stared at the bottles for a moment, wondering how many teenagers drank beer to make their mothers happy. At least she wasn't going to be drinking alone. 

Outside, Becca scanned the road. It was too hot for anyone, she didn’t expect to see Stiles, but she didn’t want to walk around searching for him either. Sweaty and dusty was just too much gross for one day. Much to her surprise, Stiles and Derek were both braving the heat, stretched out under the nematon near the pond. 

Since they were so far away she had two choices, run down the road and get dusty feet, or meander slowly through everyone’s front yards and hope she didn't step on any of Tommy’s matchbox cars or legos. A few minutes later, after carefully picking her way through the crispy grass and green weeds, Becca was close enough to the pond to call out and hold up the cold beers up as an offering. 

“Yeah!” Derek hollered and lifted his arms, waving them in the air as he cheered her name like she had just scored a touchdown. 

“You are such a goober.” Becca laughed and plopped down next to him with all the grace of a baby giraffe. “Open my beer?” she asked, handing Derek both before she offered the other to Stiles. Like the ridiculously lazy dude he was, Stiles stretched himself toward her, reaching his absolute limit with the kind of groan old people made when they got up after sitting too long. She stretched toward him as well, grinning as his fingers barely grasped the cold, condensation covered glass and dropped to the ground with a thud. “You’re welcome,” Becca said sarcastically. 

“I remember when you used to put these right into my hands,” Stiles laughed. 

“I remember when I used to get candy and otter pops out of the deal,” Becca reminded him. 

“There’s frozen butterfinger in the freezer,” Derek offered as he popped the cap off the beer with his thumb and caught it in his other hand before handing the bottle back to her.

“Traitor,” Stiles hissed at Derek.

“What? That’s been in there for weeks!” Derek protested like he was offended, but it was all a game with them. 

“I’m saving it...” Stiles paused like he was really thinking on the words. “For an emergency,” he added.

“A candy emergency?” Becca asked, wondering just what constituted a candy emergency. 

“Oh, you mean when you get stoned and you want candy?” Derek grinned.

“Stoned? You mean weed?” Becca asked. Curiosity and surprise pitched her voice up embarrassingly. She cringed, but they were too busy glaring at each other like they shouldn’t have mentioned it, and they both wanted to blame the other. 

“I have no idea what you are referring to Derek. I have never been stoned in my life,” Stiles renounced with the air of someone who didn't really think they had any chance of pulling off the lie.

“Come on,” Derek scoffed. “He barely ever smokes, but when he does it’s like watching a cat try to escape from a bag. He watches tv for five minutes, reads for ten, talks to himself, then sits down on the couch and laughs at nothing.” 

“I only did that once!” Stiles said far too loudly. “Anyways, it’s for science.” Stiles stopped laughing for long enough to take a swig off his beer. 

“Science?” she and Derek asked in unison, making Stiles laugh around his mouthful of beer. Becca snickered and shot a glance at Derek, who was watching Stiles like he hoped it would all go horribly wrong. “If science means you sit around, spaced out, watching bad horror movies, eating junk food? Count me in,” Becca said hopefully. 

“Maybe,” Derek said with definite hesitation, but his grin was too wide to mean anything but yes. “How’s your mom doing?” he asked. 

“She’s okay. Had better days,” Becca shrugged. She twisted the bottom of her beer bottle on the leg of her shorts, leaving a dark blue ring of condensation in the worn out denim. . 

“You know?” Derek said cautiously. “I’ve noticed a pattern you might be interested in? Her moods seem to directly correlate with the cycles and strength of the moon. I wasn’t sure at first, because it was inconsistent, sometimes--”

“I know, I’ve known that for a long time.” Becca interrupted Derek before he spent a lot of time explaining things he didn’t need to. 

“Oh... don't you think that’s odd?” Derek asked. 

“Sure, but you know what they say, the moon riles up all the crazies.” Becca smiled, but she immediately felt bad for using those kinds of words to describe Gwen. 

“If we know why--”. 

“You shouldn’t worry about her, she’s fine. She’s been the same for years now,” Becca insisted. 

“That doesn’t mean she’s--” 

“Derek.” Stiles shook his head, warning Derek to drop it. 

Derek drew in a sharp breath like he wanted to argue, but he shut his mouth when he took a look at Becca. She didn’t like the turn the conversation took. It would be easier just to walk away than try to scare Derek off. “I appreciate you caring, but we’ve already tried everything. Gwen is doing okay.” The words that came out of Becca’s mouth were practiced and appropriately reassuring though. 

This time was going to be different. The regular placations probably weren't going to work on Derek. He wasn't some random, partially invested relative who asked about Gwen on their way through. He wasn't going to suggest doctors and medicines like they were playing some kind of chronic illness bingo. He wasn't going to try and turn her mother into a chemistry experiment, or attempt to exorcise demons that didn't exist. He was a rational, relentless. A problem solver, like Becca. Secretly, she had been terrified of this moment because his aggressive optimism and infallible insight were dangerous things. It could very well put her back on a path Becca wasn't sure she could survive going down again. 

The last time Stiles was the one who intervened when she became too fixated on bringing Gwen back. He talked to Becca for days, not letting up until she understood what she was doing wasn't worth it. Derek already lived with them at the time, but he was new, he didn't even know about Gwen until after Becca had almost lost her mind trying to find cures for magic users that had burned themselves out, even though they had no proof that's really what happened to Gwen. Just because the symptoms looked similar to reports from years ago, that didn’t mean it really happened. 

Gwen's symptoms read like schizophrenia and Rett syndrome too, if you read it right. Even after all the research, Becca never truly understood what was wrong with her mother. It was difficult to accept when Stiles’ demanded she move on, but his intervention was the only thing that stopped her when nothing else did. Becca's single minded fixation on making her mother better looked far too much like her mother’s fixation on their father. The potential was there for Becca to lose herself in a problem that had no solution, like a child following in an alcoholic parent’s footsteps. 

Of course, it was inevitable that Derek would want to help, but he didn't understand how dangerous it was. She couldn’t let herself entertain any of his evidence. Becca had to keep that door closed, but she didn’t want to hurt him. He was already uncomfortable, cross legged and silent, rolling the bottle of beer in his hands. Life with her mother was bitterly unfair, and no one had ever made anything better by feeling terrible about it. 

“I never talk about any of this, with anyone except you guys,” Becca was looking for kind, diplomatic words to make him understand. “I started because I wanted you to listen to me, not help her.” Derek looked up, surprised by her words. “She isn’t going to change, and it’s okay. Gran worked on it for years, so did Trudy, Stiles, and myself. If something could have been done, we would have figured it out.” 

The simple truth of Becca’s words changed the look in Derek’s eyes. Becca didn't like the intensity of the defeat, or the disappointment, but it was better than the alternative. “Don’t think about it like that anymore, because the last thing any of us needs is false hope,” she added, driving her point home a little brutally, but she needed to know it was the end of it. 

The dark, painful look of silent acceptance Derek gave her almost broke Becca’s heart. She understood, Derek thought he could fix something, make life better. It hurt to break that hope, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it would have been watching Derek run himself into the ground for a lost cause like she did. 

“Don’t worry Derek, it's fine,” Stiles assured him. 

The empathy Stiles showed him was telling. Stiles had likely said the exact same thing she did, who knows how long ago. Still, he knew Derek had to hear it from her to really let it go. He also knew how much it would hurt Derek to be told outright, he couldn't help. Sometimes it felt like her whole life revolved around what she could and couldn't do for Gwen. 

Becca loved Stiles, he was like a brother to her. She trusted him, she always had because he had always been there. The night her mother finally really lost it, when she caught Becca taking beer out of the house, it was Derek Becca called for though. Sometimes she still wondered if someone would ask why she screamed for Derek instead of Stiles, Scott, or even Trudy. She didn’ know why she thought of him first. Becca didn't ever want to be asked that question, but someday someone would probably bring it up. 

Stupidity and carelessness caused the whole, unfortunate event anyways. When Gwen rounded the corner of the stairs, heading to bed, she saw Becca in the doorway with her father’s beer in hand. Becca knew better than to walk in and take them out of the refrigerator without checking on her mother first. It was rule number one of keeping up appearances. Of course Becca was headed to Stiles’ house, but her mother believed Becca was going to meet her father. Gwen believed in that moment Becca was purposely keeping him away from Gwen because that’s all Gwen cared about. Before that day no one ever thought Gwen was capable of that kind of rage. 

Remembering her mother's anger still made her feel sick. Caught, frozen in place while Gwen shouted obscenities. The bottles dropped out of her hand she was so startled, and one of them crashed, breaking all over the porch. Then Gwen attacked her, shouting accusations Becca didn't understand at first. Becca backed away and walked right through the glass, accidentally trapping herself against the open door. She didn't feel her feet or the glass, only panic. All Becca wanted was for Gwen to stop yelling and shaking her. Finally Gwen shook her hard enough to slam her head against the door. That’s when Becca screamed for Derek. 

She had never been so scared and powerless. Unable to defend herself against someone almost twice her size, and unwilling to use any of the gifts she possessed against someone she loved. All Becca did was cry and beg Gwen to stop. It didn’t stop until Derek stepped between them, and her mother vanished with Stiles into the house. Derek picked her up and took her away. They didn't let Becca go back for a few nights, not until Stiles had a chance to have a clear conversation with her mother. Gwen loved Stiles, so it was at least possible for him to get through to her sometimes. 

Still, it took some time for Gwen to prove she understood what she had done was wrong. She agreed to never be violent again, or she would be asked to leave. Becca and Derek spent days talking about it until Becca understood it wasn’t her fault or her responsibility. The hardest part was agreeing that if, or when, Gwen couldn't be managed anymore, they would find a better place for her to live. It wasn’t what Becca wanted, but she never had the last say in things like that anyways. 

When she finally went home, her mother acted like nothing had happened. She went back to her old, sweet, absent self. They all fell back into the same routine and that was all Becca got. Maybe Gwen wasn’t capable of communicating like Becca wanted, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. In the end the whole incident opened up a part of her life she never let herself look at before. It wasn’t comfortable, or sustainable to live with Gwen the way she was forever. All they were doing was saying a long goodbye. 

What hurt the most was the potential Gwen showed sometimes. Some days she was almost normal, but she never really cared about them, not like she used to. Mother’s were supposed to take care of their kids, put them first, bt she and Bobby were an afterthought most days. Falling in line far behind the ghost of a man they were only sure existed because Becca and Bobby did. Becca hated everything about it, but there was nothing she could do except talk to Derek when it overwhelmed her. She wasn't surprised he wanted to fix it. If she was in his position, she would too. 

Interrupting the conversation Stiles and Derek were having over her head, Becca asked Derek: “I gotta go back soon. Mom’s alone. You wanna go out on the river again later?” She mostly hoped a trip to the river would make him feel better. 

“We’ll go tomorrow. I need to head into town soon and pick up a part for the engine,” Derek said. 

“Oh, that gurgling noise it made last time? That was a thing?” Becca thought it was, but Derek wasn't convinced. 

“Carburetor,” Stiles said, proving he was the useful one, mechanically. 

“I’ll go with you, if you don't mind? Just let me catch a nap before Bobby comes home,” Becca asked. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll honk when we’re ready to leave,” Derek promised. 

She climbed to her feet gracelessly and handed off most of her beer to Stiles. Going to town would be nice. They would probably stop and get some dinner somewhere. If she was cool about it, Stiles would probably let her buy a few things at the store. Derek swiped at her leg as she ran off, groaning and laughing when he missed her. He was only pretending she was faster than him, but it was funny all the same.


	2. Set the World on Fire

The big half ton truck they borrowed from Kira lumbered down the dry rutted road. It bounced around enough to make Becca’s teeth rattle in her head. It wasn’t a terrible road. Just like everyone else's driveways it was torn up and dusty half the year, and a mud pit the other. No one was going to fix it anytime soon, no matter how much Becca wished they would before it was her turn to learn to drive. Becca sighed in relief as they turned onto the relatively flat asphalt of the highway and coasted toward civilization. Everything was so differen, it was almost like stepping into a different universe. 

Classic rock blasted out of the stereo the whole way into town. It took about forty five minutes to get anywhere that had fast food or a bank, but the boat supply place was tucked away in a little town that claimed a post office and a diner as it’s tourist hot spots. Boat tours of the swamps were about all anyone in the area could offer. All three places in town, the boat store, post office, and diner, shared the same parking lot. 

They pulled up next to a large, sleek black SUV and parked. It didn't look like it belonged there, but most tourist cars didn't. Stiles hesitated, looking over at the SUV for a moment before hovering his hand over the door handle. It had tinted windows and no license plates, which didn't seem right for a rental. Derek just stared out the window, scowling like he might be able to see inside, if the windows weren't ink black and mirrored by the sun. 

“Is that SUV creepy? Or is it just me?” Becca asked, mostly hoping to break the weird tension gathering around her. 

“It’s probably just new.” Derek mutter the easy explanation to Stiles, but he didn't look very convinced himself. 

Apparently satisfied with Derek's explanation, Stiles shrugged and got out of the truck. Becca headed to the post office with the letters Gran sent along with them as Stiles and Derek headed to the boat store. She was done dropping the mail into the blazing hot metal slot on the door about ten seconds later. Then she headed to the diner to order something made of ice cream, or coffee and way too much sugar. Becca hadn't decided, but she had been daydreaming about the possibilities the whole way in.

A short young woman Becca didn't recognize was waiting tables. She was wide eyed, gorgeous and she had a spectacular smile she didn't give to anyone else in the diner except Becca. “What do you want kid? Hopefully something cold. I think we all might melt if they have to fire up the grill again.” The waitress smiled wide again and pointed Becca at a table. 

“I want a hot fudge sundae, lots of almonds,” Becca said as she sat down. “And iced coffee, with whipped cream.” She threw caution to the wind and ordered both. 

“Going for the deluxe, caffeinated sugar bomb?” the waitress laughed as she wrote down Becca's order. 

“My uncles will be in here any minute. I know they’ll both want burgers if you want to start on them,” Becca suggested. 

“Okay, I’ll be back with your stuff in a minute.” The waitress headed straight for the kitchen and vanished behind a swinging door. 

The bell on the front door rang out loudly, dragging Becca's attention away from the messy napkin dispenser she was trying to repair. A stocky, handsome man with a dark blue button up shirt watched her with intense interest from the open door. She scowled at him without thinking, then consciously relaxed her forehead because he hadn't done anything to deserve it, yet. He didn’t look like he lived in the area, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know the family. People she didn't remember recognized her often enough from visiting the parish when she was little. 

A strong gust of hot wind blew through and lifted a dessert menu off the table closest to him. The man snatched it out of the air like a viper snatching a mouse and put it back carefully. Oddly, he kept his eyes fixed on her. That seemed too strange to be simple familiarity. Anxiety pooled in her her chest, swelling as he intentionally took a few steps toward her. 

“Excuse me miss,” the man said, his voice soft and velvet-like, too controlled to be sincere. “Are you Rebecca Monroe?” 

Then he smiled. His face suddenly transformed like a flower, blooming into something kind and loving. The almost predatorial gaze he walked in with was gone like it had all been a dream. His dark blue eyes matched his blue button up shirt in a way that seemed intentional, and a little corny. Something a dad might do when he was trying too hard to look nice. His eyes stayed fixed on her face, waiting expectantly, but he wasn’t unsettling like before. He was worried about bothering her. 

Being afraid of a grown man was understandable, but he certainly wasn't showing her the wrong kind of interest. He had to be a friend of someone she knew. Everyone knew each other out in the bayou. 

Feeling silly for being inhospitable standoffish, Becca smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m Rebecca Monroe, but most people call me Becca.” She held out her hand for him to shake. 

“My name is Peter,” he said, not giving a last name as he shook her hand. It was odd. All the locals did that. 

Becca held her breath, waiting for the impression of him to show itself. She tried not to hold it, but the impressions were still shocking, like a two second long movie playing out over all five senses. There was no impression when he introduced himself though. That meant she had met him before, but couldn't remember. She wasn’t as good at receiving introductory impressions as Trudy or Gran, but she always got something, unless she met the person so long ago she forgot. It was likely, since he already knew her name. The family never would have allowed him to be around her when she was that young if he wasn't safe. 

Smiling, trying to be more friendly, Becca motioned for him to sit down. She was relieved when he took a seat across from her. “Do we already know each other?” she asked, hoping he could help her recall. 

“Yes, we met a long time ago, you were little. I’m an old friend of your mother’s,” Peter explained. The crinkle around his eyes when he smiled proved he liked Gwen quite a bit. 

“Oh, did you go to school with my mom?” Becca asked. 

“No, unfortunately. I’m just a California transplant your mother was kind to, before...” Peter hesitated like everyone always did trying to describe Gwen’s state without making Becca uncomfortable. They didn’t understand that their discomfort was the problem, not hers. “When she used to go out more.” Peter’s eyes softened and his mouth turned down as he diplomatically skimmed over her mother’s condition. It was better than the fumbling, unintentionally rude things people sometimes said to her. 

“Well, it’s been a while then, but she’s doing well,” Becca assured him. She never knew what to say to people who used to know Gwen. Sometimes she felt like she should be apologizing, but she didn't know what she would be apologizing for. 

“I’m glad,” Peter said with a soft smile as he slid his hand across the table toward her a little. “How is Bobby? The last time I saw him his cheeks were so big he looked like a little cartoon,” Peter laughed. 

“He's good. Do you have a family name or is it just the one?” Becca asked, trying to place him still. 

Before he could answer the bell rang and Peter turned abruptly, startled, like he was caught. 

“Derek!” the waitress shouted gleefully, dropping Becca’s sundae on the bar with a thud. The waitress ran to Derek and hugged him around the neck, hanging from his huge shoulders like she knew him well. 

“Laura, what are you doing here?” Derek asked. Becca didn’t understand why he sounded concerned. 

“I haven’t seen you in so long! What are you doing in town?” Laura, Derek’s sister, asked. Becca had heard a lot about Laura. She had ignored Derek’s question, but the answer was obvious. Laura was working. 

The eyebrows were a dead giveaway. Becca should have recognized her. Cora, who looked a lot like Laura, had spent plenty of time in the village, but Laura had never come. It was a point of contention between the two of them because Derek was unwilling to go to the Hale house. Stiles walked past Derek and Laura, grabbing her sundae off the counter as he passed. He glanced at Peter quickly then sat down beside Becca, scooting her over as he slid into the booth. 

“Scoot, Princess,” Stiles said, using the nickname she hated the most before he took a deeply offensive bite of her furiously melting sundae. When he was done molesting it, he finally push it toward her. 

“Cooties,” Becca snarled, not meaning it, but she wanted him to suffer a little for calling her Princess in front of someone she didn't know. 

“So, Peter, exactly what are you doing sitting at a table with my niece?” Stiles said. 

The underlying threat in his voice was alarming. Suddenly Becca was sure she had done something very wrong talking to Peter. Curious, Becca watched Peter for a reaction. Peter’s smile was no longer genuine. It was more like angrily baring of his teeth. Everything about his expression made it obvious he had no respect for Stiles. Becca pretended not to notice the tension, taking a bite of her sundae before it melted entirely. Whatever was going on between them was none of her business, unless Stiles told her it was. 

“I happen to know Becca’s mother,” Peter smiled. “I was asking how Gwen was doing. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen her.”

It was a lie, Peter never actually asked about Gwen. He said he knew her, and asked about Bobby, but he never asked about their mother. It could have been a mistake, a generalization based on what he intended to ask, but it felt more like he expected Becca to go along with what he said and make it look like he had no interest in her. But he obviously did. 

“I sincerely doubt you know Gwen, she hasn't left her house in fifteen years,” Stiles said dryly. 

“I know, I heard,” Peter said in a velvety calm voice. “But you know how country folk gossip.” 

Derek walked up to the end of the bench seat Peter was in and loomed angrily for a moment. “Out,” Derek snapped, grabbing Peter by the shoulder and pulling him out of the seat roughly when he didn't immediately comply. 

Though he had no choice but to cooperate, Peter stood on his own, righting himself quickly like it would give him back all the dignity he had just lost. “Rebecca," Peter said tartly. "I sincerely apologize. Our introduction has been rudely cut short. Nevertheless, was nice to meet you.” Peter took a step toward her like he was going to shake her hand again, but Derek made the barest move toward him and Peter took a full step back. “You are welcome to come and visit my home any time. You and Cora are friends, I’m sure she would be more than happy to escort you. Please extend the invitation to your mother and brother as well, it has been too long."

Becca nodded, not feeling obligated to use the politeness she usually would when an adult spoke to her so nicely. Whoever Peter was, Derek deeply disliked him, and that was plenty to solidify her bad opinion. She looked back down at her sundae, intent on paying attention to it as Peter walked out the door, followed closely by Laura. Becca watched them curiously, stealing glances out the window as she ate her melty ice cream. Laura was unhappy with Peter, Becca couldn’t hear what she said, but Laura’s body language screamed outrage. 

“That is my uncle Peter. He’s not the kind of person you want to be visiting,” Derek warned. 

Shocked and embarrassed by her stupidity, Becca nodded quickly, agreeing with Derek. Everything had happened so fast she forgot he even introduced himself as Peter. She was so intent on getting his last name, then watching the showdown, she missed it. Knowing what she did about Peter Hale was enough to not need any further convincing. Besides his problems with Derek and Stiles, Peter had history with Scott. Which was something Becca probably knew more about than anyone else. She watched Laura argue with Peter with renewed interest, not bothering to hide it as she absently ate the rest of her sundae. 

It made her think of Scott and all the things she knew that no one else did. Years ago, when Scott became an alpha, he asked her for help to understand what happened to him. At first she wasn’t sure why Scott asked her and not Gran. Later she realized he didn’t want his mother finding out how scared he was of what he had become. Gran certainly would have talked to Melissa about it. Becca and Stiles were the only people Scott ever talked to about it 

The three of them all understood what it was like to be considered special inside their community, and what it was like to be responsible for other people in ways none of them were prepared for. Maybe Becca was only in charge of her little family, not the entire village or a whole pack of werewolves, but both Scott and Stiles trusted her. They were the ones who helped her keep a tight hold on her little life, just the same as she helped them when they asked. 

What happened to Scott, becoming a true alpha, that was still an unsolved mystery in her mind. It was too big and too improbable not to mean something. She suggested it was foretelling, maybe prophetic, but Scott wasn’t willing to entertain the idea he might be a major player in something big. There was no way he was willing to listen to her theories. Stiles agreed that Scott was a manifestation of the universal need for balance, so she was probably right. 

Scott was a truly benevolent leader, born of an entirely corrupt one. If she was right, that meant Peter Hale was bad enough the universe put an actual nemesis on his tail. That didn't speak well for his character, or his longevity. As soon as he did something bad, Scott would probably take care of him. It seemed a shame to Becca they had to wait and see what that bad thing was going to be. Seemed like maybe a better choice just to take him out before he could do something bad, but no one agreed with her.

After Peter went back to the black SUV that everyone thought was creeptastic, Laura came back inside and delivered Becca's iced coffee with an apologetic smile. It was piled with too much whipped cream and chocolate syrup, like sugar might make up for Peter being weird. Becca smiled as Laura pushed it toward her, happy to accept bribery even though Laura had nothing to apologize for. She went to the order window to pick up the plates already waiting for Derek and Stiles. 

“What did he say to you Becca?” Stiles asked once her sundae was mostly gone. 

“Nothing much,” Becca shrugged. Stiles raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Derek like she might be hiding something. “Seriously. He didn’t ask about mom though. He asked about Bobby. I didn’t answer him. I was trying to figure out who he was.” 

“Did you shake his hand?” Stiles asked. He was actually asking if she got any impression, but indirectly because they were in public. Becca didn't think the two grey haired men on the other side of the diner could hear them, but care is as careful does Gran said.

“Yeah, but it was like I’d met him before, you know?” Becca looked up at Stiles, then Derek. 

Neither of them said or did anything. No reaction at all. It was the fact they weren't surprised that made her suspicious they knew something she didn’t. She looked down at her sundae then back up at Derek. He stole a worried glance at Stiles when he thought she wasn't looking. 

“Here’s your burgers,” Laura said, sliding the plates across the table before pushing an unsolicited sandwich toward Becca.

"I didn't--" 

"Eat some protein, seriously kid.” When Laura smiled all Becca saw was Derek’s bunny toothed, goofy grin. It was the kind of smile that made them look like they weren't the same person anymore. Suddenly they were nerdy and approachable instead of ridiculously gorgeous. 

Becca laughed quietly and nodded, agreeing because she had no reason not to. “Actual food? Crazy talk...” she said, pulling the plate closer. 

Sliding in next to Derek, Laura picked up one of his fries then peered over the edge of the counter to see where the cook was like she was worried about getting caught sitting down on the job. “My replacement will be here any minute, but I don’t want to piss off Tony.” Laura leaned back in the booth, satisfied she was safe. 

“Is Peter waiting for you outside?” Derek asked, glancing at the SUV again. 

“Yeah, the Camaro wouldn't start this morning. I keep it in the garage next to the dock, but I think the humidity is going to turn the whole fucking thing to rust before I can learn to love a new car." Laura stole another french fry. A deep scowl arched her eyebrows angrily. 

“You really look like Derek,” Becca said, hoping Laura would take it as a compliment. 

“Only when I’m bitter.” Laura laughed and poked Derek in the ribs as he picked up his burger. Derek rolled his eyes and grinned a tiny bit, enjoying the attention as much as he tolerated it. “Why don’t you come visit me, brother?” Laura asked. 

“I don’t--" Derek started to say defensively. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I’m happy to see you. I’m glad I know you work here. I’ll come visit.” Derek said diplomatically. 

“Why don’t you come visit us? Cora comes all the time,” Becca asked because no one else was ever going to and she thought Derek should finally get an answer. Laura’s distance really hurt him. 

The smile on Laura’s face fell, her eyes shifted from the table to Stiles uncomfortably. Becca didn't understand why Laura didn’t visit, or why it was such a big problem no one would talk about it. Becca wondered if Peter had forbidden it, but Laura was an alpha. Peter couldn’t force her to stay away. Nobody was saying anything, they were all waiting for someone else to answer her question. But there was always one last resort, Stiles. He always told the truth unless she really wasn't supposed to know. 

“Why can’t Laura come visit us?” Becca asked Stiles quietly. 

Asking was bound to piss someone off, but at least she would finally know and Derek might talk about it. Every once in a while she could still ask hard questions and pretend to not know better. Becca was just young enough they could blame her for everything and pretend it wasn't really her fault because she didn't understand it was sensitive stuff, or whatever. As far as she could tell leaving things unsaid never had the power to make anything better.

Stiles finished the bite of hamburger he was working on and looked over at Becca before he answered. “Because she’s afraid of the possibility she might not be able to see Tahlequa.” 

It made sense, and that was something worth being afraid of. Being rejected by the nematon would mean Laura was evil, or didn't belong with them. Becca never considered it, but Laura had. It was a scary thing for one of their kind. Laura looked shocked Stiles said it outloud, but Stiles had his eyes fixed on Dereks, because Derek looked unhappy.

“I don't --” Laura tried to say.

“Stiles --” Derek talked over Laura, obviously unhappy Stiles chose to lay it all out. 

Becca held her hand out to Laura, already annoyed by the emotional constipation between Laura and Derek and unsure why they didn't just ask when the solution was so easy. Adults were so weird sometimes, acting like finding out was worse than not knowing. Real evil was hard to come by, but Laura was right to be afraid if she thought it was a possibility. If she came to the village and it rejected her, or she couldn’t see the nematon, no one would want anything to do with her anymore. 

“Take my hand and introduce yourself,” Becca demanded. She was startled by her own audacity, but sometimes frustration gave her a kind of resolve that could turn into bravery if the stakes were high. 

The table was silent as Laura took her hand hesitantly. “My name is Laura?” She was unsure why she was doing it, but willing to go along with such an easy request. 

Introductions and impressions still felt oddly invasive to Becca, like hearing an annoying ad and not being able to figure out what browser tab it was on. The warmth of Laura seeped into her skin finally, the familiar fire element that protected Laura and made up her wolf saw Becca as an ally, a friend. The powerful and terrifying alpha that prowled Laura’s mind greeted Becca like an exuberant puppy though. Laura barked out a low, spontaneous laugh and covered her mouth, definitely feeling the excitement of the wolf spirit overwhelm her. 

Laura was good, but everything inside her was caught up in a thick, oppressive layer of guilt. She was far worse off than Derek had ever been. She blamed herself for everything that went wrong with her family, even Peter. The image of a happy, wide face, smiling and alive drifted through Laura’s mind. Becca recognized the face of Victoria Selure, their neighbor and long time family friend. Suddenly Victoria's presence felt foreign and heated. The sensation turned pleasant and Becca dropped Laura’s hand, snapping back when she realized she was seeing someone Laura was romantic with. Explicitly so. 

“I’m Rebecca Monroe, but you can call me Becca, it’s nice to meet you.” Becca said her usual, polite introduction too quickly as the red flush of embarrassment crept up her face involuntarily. 

Derek stared at her from across the table, overtly interested in Becca's abrupt, embarrassed reaction and wanting some sort of answer. She needed to give him one, assure them all everything was okay, but her tongue was thick and fumbling over the shame of sensing something so deeply personal. She should not have picked up on the relationship between Victoria and Laura at all. It wasn't something any of them normally got in a first impression. There was no way it was any of Becca’s business, so it must have been new or overwhelming for Laura. She must have been fixating on it, which Becca understood. 

What she saw was only an echo of how Laura felt, and the intensity of the desire was totally alien to Becca. She only imagined liking someone enough to want to kiss them, but she never had. It was abundantly clear Laura wanted to do a lot more than that to Victoria Selure. Becca didn't dare open her mouth, she was afraid she might blurt out something Laura didn’t want her to share. 

“Laura, you’re fine," Stiles spoke up for her. "You can come by any time. I’m pretty sure all you’ll find is a lot of conversation and too much food,” he offered. 

Thankfully, Stiles wrapped an arm around Becca’s shoulders protectively and pulled her close. He was smiling like he knew exactly what happened, but he couldn't possibly know. Becca was confused but so grateful she didn't question it. She wrapped her arms around his chest and relaxed because it wasn't her problem anymore. She didn’t have to answer because Stiles wouldn’t make her say anything before he had a chance to talk to her alone at least. 

“What was that? How do you know? Is she psychic?” Laura asked, her voice low and alarmed. 

“She’s something,” Stiles answered with a short laugh. “You're fine Laura, and you know me well enough to take my word on it.” 

“If there was anything wrong, Stiles would tell you,” Derek assured her. Laura stared at him intensely, like they were speaking a secret language with their eyes. Obviously exasperated, Derek leaned in and whispered to Laura. He was most likely explaining how all of them had the gift of introduction, even some of the powerless humans. It was the nematon’s way of protecting itself and seeing the world through them. Anyone who might be rejected would have made Becca feel uncomfortable at least. Derek pulled back and gave Laura a hard look. “So no more excuses, come over next time Cora comes, okay?” 

Laura agreed, nodding her head once, then turned around to scan the parking lot like she was looking for an escape. The next waitress wasn't there yet, and Peter was still invisible behind his tinted windows. Laura was stuck with them for a while longer. She looked so uncomfortable Becca felt sorry for her. 

Stiles asked Laura how long she had been working there, diplomatically switching to polite, adult conversation. After a few minutes, no one was paying any attention to Becca anymore. She didn't have to keep hiding next to Stiles. No one expected her to be a part of polite conversation yet. It was one of those small things she was sometimes grateful she could still get away with, though most of the time it annoyed her that they didn't treat her like an adult. 

Mentally Becca was drained, almost like a crash after a sugar high, but it was far too quick to be suffering from the sundae already. She contemplated the motivation to eat her sandwich and finish her coffee. Resolve didn't come so Becca pushed things around in her plate to make it look like she tried.

An unsettling sort of excitement twisted in her gut as she thought about Laura’s secrets. Becca wanted to pretend it never happened, but she couldn't ignore it, not when she didn't understand it completely. Becca didn't feel that strongly or that passionately about anything. She was driven to succeed, too much sometimes, Gran said. Becca belonged to the village. She loved learning with Trudy. She loved her mother, and her family, but that sort of love was quiet, constant and unobtrusive. It didn't get in her way or overwhelm her like Laura’s feelings for Victoria.

Passion and desire like Laura experienced seemed dangerous, maybe even destructive. If those feelings were the same as what motivated Gwen it explained why she sat by the window, destroyed by an obsession, barely giving the rest of life attention. Nothing could compete with feelings that strong. It wasn't reasonable to believe someone would be able to control themselves in the face of emotions like that, even though Laura looked fine. 

It didn't make sense to Becca that Laura would be able to hide feelings that way. A new wave of embarrassment hit Becca as she recalled the sweet, innocent pining for Derek’s attention she felt not that long ago. She had no context for what romantic love felt like before, but Laura had given her a moment of clarity. The undeniable truth of it freed Becca from any lingering guilt. She never wanted Derek like that. Not even close. 

Back then Becca wanted Derek’s approval, and his attention, but she thought it was a real crush. They spent a lot of time learning together. He was supportive and encouraging. He treated her with respect and regard, like she was remarkable. She believed Derek saw her differently than everyone else did, but it was all in her head. She was too young, and too stupid to understand she imprinted on him like a lost baby duck, thinking of him like the father she never had. She didn’t know how to feel about having someone like a dad around, even though Jason and John tried often enough. It just didn't make sense to her right away. 

Sometimes Stiles made crass jokes about girls with daddy issues, obviously never considering Becca could identify with those women. She kind of wanted to kick Stiles in the shin when he said shit like that, even though it made her extra thankful she had Derek. The broken bottle crisis with Gwen had forced her to ask herself what she really wanted from him. Becca came up with an answer quickly in the face of necessity. Derek felt like family, the same as Bobby, Stiles, and Trudy. She wanted him to want to be her family, that was all. 

Just like the women Stiles talked about though, if Becca had been older, or less careful, she could have easily made the mistake of misunderstanding her feelings with someone willing to take advantage of her confusion in a way Derek was incapable of. Becca knew how lucky she was to be as smart as she was, and she doubted she could ever feel the sort of desire Laira had for Vic, for any person, for any reason. The tiny glimpse she got felt like something that might eat a person alive. Something to avoid, not something to look forward to. 

There had been a time when she wondered if she would go insane someday just like Gwen. If the love of some man was waiting just around the corner to break Becca into a thousand pieces. Maybe she wouldn't bother to put herself back together again either. 

Stiles rapped his fingers on the table to get Becca’s attention. She had zoned out again thinking. “It was nice to meet you Becca,” Laura waved to her as she walked away from the table. 

“Yeah, see you soon!” Becca called back, sounding far too eager. 

The moment Laura was out of werewolf earshot, on the road and driving away, Derek turned to her. “What happened?” he asked, expecting to be filled in, but Becca had no intention of telling him anything that wasn't his business. 

“Stiles told you, she’s fine,” Becca answered. 

“You turned seven shades of red. The least you can do is let me know what kind of trouble my sister has gotten herself into,” Derek asked, obviously not wanting to know the dirt as much as he wanted to know she was okay. 

“She's--there's no trouble,” Becca laughed uncomfortably, heat crawling up her neck again. 

"Jesus Becca, what the hell did you see?" Derek's exasperated scowl deepened as he took in her red face and ears again. 

Becca was hopeless and embarrassing all on her own if just thinking about what she saw was going to turn her into an idiot every time it crossed her mind. Becca sighed and pulled all of her thoughts back in on themselves, cleaning her mind of the chaos and expectation like she did before she channeled. Having to maintain emotional control so you didn’t burn yourself alive channeling elemental fire energy also happened to be a fantastic way to pretend everything was peachy keen. 

Derek wanted to know Laura was okay, so she would be okay. But he also needed a logical explanation for Becca’s embarrassment, or it would bother him, and he would bother her. 

“The alpha was strange, silly, like a puppy,” Becca blurted out because it was the only thing even remotely believable. 

“What?” Stiles asked, looking at her like what she said was actually completely unbelievable. 

“That’s possible, but it’s not normal,” Derek sat back in his seat, his monstrous eyebrows taking over his face as he scowled. The explanation felt pretty weak to Becca, but obviously it meant more than she realized. “Sometimes, if you control the wolf too much, if you never let it out to... play,” Derek hesitated then lowered his voice when he remembered where they were. “If you never give it space to breathe it can regress, fall back on it’s baser energies to cope. Its dangerous because the fluffy puppy can turn into a bloodthirsty predator at the drop of a hat.”

“Not good,” Stiles agreed. 

“Laura knows better than to suppress herself that way.”

“Can you think of why she might do that?” 

“Guilt,” Becca said, giving the obvious answer, the one she was certain of. “She was sick with it.” 

Neither of them had any response to her answer because there wasn't anything anyone could say. They all knew why Laura felt guilt, and there wasn't much any of them could do about it, or it would have been done years ago. Becca couldn’t imagine losing her whole family, or how she would cope, but Becca understood it wasn’t something a person got over quickly. 

“Finish, your sandwich and we’ll go,” Derek said, pushing his plate away and flagging the new waitress down for the check. “You want me to order Bobby a burger to go?” he asked Becca. 

“Yeah, and Mom likes the club, if that’s okay?” 

“Of course,” Derek said absently as he looked over the menu again for Bobby. 

“I want to pick up a case on the way home,” Stiles said. 

“I’m not drinking that shitty Japanese beer anymore,” Derek said, dropping the menu and narrowing his eyes at Stiles. 

“Fine, whatever you want honey,” Stiles said, his playful tone bordering on sickly sweet. 

A grin spread across her face as she ate her sandwich and watched the both of them, wondering if they were actually going to argue right here at the table. She loved watching them argue, it was like watching two cats circle each other angrily, but with sarcasm and biting insults instead of hisses and spats. Derek almost got words out before the waitress came up and derailed his momentum. When they argued about who was going to pay the bill they got all sweet with each other, which was sorta cute as well, but not nearly as interesting. 

Antsy energy from the intense sugar high crawled over her skin as they drove to the convenience store by the tour dock on the way home. Inside, Stiles let her get way too much candy, more than Derek would be happy about, but he promised he would pretend it was partly his. The only reason Stiles agreed was because he had a case of domestic beer under his arm. Maybe she should have felt guilty, but she felt an obligation to extort Stiles if he was going to be that much of a brat about something as silly as beer. 

Becca picked up an orange soda and showed the clerk, telling him Stiles would pay for it with all of her other things, then went outside. She didn’t go back to the truck where Derek was filling the truck with gas, instead she went out to the dock. Mostly because it was there. It was empty. The tour had just gone out and there was no one waiting for the next one yet. 

Ropes and gear were stacked neatly all along the edge of the dock, waiting for boats and tour operators. At the end of the dock the slow river swayed under her feet. Becca looked down into the murky green water, but the silt was still so stirred up all she could see was her own warped reflection staring back at her. The Becca in the water looked like something in a funhouse mirror. She wasn't too tall, lanky, wide eyed, bony or any of the other adjectives people used to describe her. 

Those weren’t words people used to describe someone strong and useful. Laura was small, but she was shaped like someone useful. Her arms were muscular and thick at the shoulders. Her hands were rough looking, like she worked outside. But it was more likely Laura’s hands looked the way they did from claws, fighting, and practice. Derek told her they had all been trained, Laura most of all, and she was the best. Kira knew how to fight, with swords even, but no one would ever think it was important for someone like Becca to know things like that. Her whole purpose was to learn to channel and help her family. Her body wasn’t her strong suit, it would always be her mind. 

Looking down at her hand, Becca realized they were too big again. Evidence she would be even taller someday, probably soon. Her feet were huge too. It made her look more like a cartoon character than someone who would be an adult soon. Becca couldn’t imagine what she was going to look like. She wanted to be strong and capable, but that seemed unattainable. She hated wanting things she couldn’t have, and she didn’t want to be some tragic stereotype, hating herself because social conditioning told her she had to look a certain way. She was smarter than that, and no matter how weird she felt in her own skin, it was hers to do with as she pleased. 

Touching a finger to the light post next to her, Becca intended to channel just enough fire to scratch her initials into the surface. It felt like the right thing to do because it was silly and rebellious. She wanted to mark this entirely unremarkable moment. Make it remarkable with strangeness because she could. Sometimes she wished she was more impulsive, and that she could come up with crazier, more fun things to do than burn her initials into a weathered old light post. 

Heat gathered under her fingertip, and tiny wisps of smoke curled against her skin. Becca wasn’t good at direct channeling yet. It was difficult and took a lot of focus. Just gathering the energy to burn a little mark took a tremendous amount of effort. Using it took even more. It was dangerous because she had to bring pure fire energy through her body. Fire was the only element that could kill a person instead of simply dissipating because the channeler lost focus. 

If she lost control of it, even if it was only a tiny spark of pure elemental fire, she could spontaneously combust, burning from the inside out. Becca wasn’t worried because she was unwavering and consistent. Her willpower was a fixed, hard point in her mind, and that was something she didn’t have to learn. It had always been there. Gran said she was born with more self possession than all of them could ever hope to achieve, and it showed in her channeling.

She finished the arc of the R and pulled her finger away. A capital P stared back at her. She put her finger on the corner, intending to finish, when Peter’s face popped into her mind. Becca wondered why someone like Peter Hale would be interested in her. He obviously knew Gwen, and her mother didn’t know many people, even before she became housebound. Gwen only knew local people, and Peter hadn’t been around for long. He couldn’t have known her mother well enough to have a real interest. 

Maybe Peter was pretending. Maybe he lied to try and get to the werewolves again, or make some other kind of trouble. Maybe he thought he could manipulate Becca because she was young. Heat flared under her finger suddenly, and a long flame licked it’s way up the lamp post. Becca pulled the energy back and the flame popped and flickered. It surged again on it’s own as she took her hand away. She reached up and covered the base of the flame with her hands, but fear clouded her concentration. 

Becca’s hands shook. She clenched her teeth in frustration and her willpower vanished, leaving her powerless to absorb the flame. The heat began to burn her hands as the last of the fire element drained out of her. It was more interested in chasing the flames than helping her. She let go of the light post before it could blister her skin. Becca was going to shout for help before the growing flame consumed the entire dock, but Derek was already running toward her. 

“Back, get back,” he said as he skidded to a stop and slapped his hand against the post. 

Water seeped and bubbled out of the wood under her feet, like something alive was trying to break through to get to them. It hissed and gurgled as it raced up the post, droplets popping out of the surface like condensation on a glass of iced tea. When the water reached the flames it sizzled and went out, smoke curling and dying. Derek didn’t let go until the entire post was soaked and dripping wet. He shook the water off his hands and looked around to see if anyone had noticed them. 

The dock was still empty, no one was near the store windows. They were safe, barely. He took her by the hand and led her off the dock quickly, like she couldn’t be trusted to follow on her own. Derek open the door of the truck for her and waited for her to get inside. Becca threw herself into the front seat and reached out for the door handle, but Derek stopped her, looming over the open door. Confusion and unasked questions played across his face. She was torn between wanting to spill out a dozen different apologies, and being so embarrassed and humiliated she couldn’t make herself speak. 

“What the hell were you doing?” Derek demanded quietly, his tone barely controlled. 

For a moment she thought he was angry, but concern and alarm wrinkled the space between his eyebrows just the same as angry did. A surge of fear burned her stomach, she didn’t want to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t think of a believable lie, not that fast. If he knew, he would be angry and disappointed because it was childish and stupid enough to actually play with fire. She didn’t do childish and stupid things, mostly because people expected better from her. She liked that. He raised his eyebrows, silently demanding a response. Becca didn't meant to, but she flinched. 

Derek’s expression immediately softened. He sighed and he took a step back, letting go of the door frame. Aching burn gathered in her throat and her vision went cloudy as her eyes welled up with tears. She didn’t want to cry, she said everything she could think of to herself to make it stop, but the humiliation was too much for her to hold back. Hot, bitter tears rolled down her cheeks. She brushed them away with her fingers quickly but there was no hiding it. 

“Derek, I’m--I didn’t--” She tried to apologize. 

“Scoot.” Derek held up his hand and motioned for her to move over. 

As he climbed into the truck next to her, Derek slammed the door shut much harder than he needed to and a fresh wave of tears fell down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. He was really angry with her. He opened the glove box, pulled out a handful of napkins, and held them out for her. They smelled like motor oil and road dust, but they were clean. She wasn’t going to complain. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Derek apologized quietly. 

It took Becca a moment to realize he didn’t understand why she was upset at all. He assumed she was scared like he might hurt her, but that was absurd. Just the threat of Derek’s disappointment was far worse. As much as Becca wished she didn't have to admit it, she couldn't let him think she was afraid of him. She wiped her face off and took a deep breath, trying to control herself before she opened her mouth. Becca had to make sure it would be words, not just hysterical babbling that came out. 

“I’m not afraid of you, not like that.” Becca braved looking over at him, hoping he understood without making her explain more. 

Derek’s eyebrows drew together sharply and he looked down, his shoulders falling as he searched for another explanation. “I’m not mad at you, I just want to know what happened?” 

Not angry did not preclude disappointment and shame. He only half understood, and eventually she would have to explain herself. There was no way it was happening right then, not without a gross display of waterworks and high pitched rambling. Her lips tightened and she shook her head, hoping he would let her off the hook, just this once. Totally unmerciful, Derek reached an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, completely destroying any chance Becca would stop crying anytime soon. 

“C’mon, you can't almost set the dock on fire and expect me to just let it go?” Derek asked. He tried to lighten the mood by making it sound almost sarcastic. “I need to at least know you’re okay.” 

As if he was hell bent on making it even worse, Becca realized Derek didn't care that she had done something wrong, he was worried something dangerous had happened. That also meant he dragged her off the dock holding her hand because he was trying to protect her, not manage her. The wave of relief and gratitude that hit Becca made her sob embarrassingly loud. Derek pulled a matte of wet hair off her face and dragged it over her shoulder. 

“The crying is just making me worry more. Give me one word, anything, and tell me you’re okay or not. The rest you explain later.” The firm expectation and authority in Derek’s voice made it a promise, and the final word. No more compromising. 

“I’m okay,” Becca promised, ashamed of how small and hoarse her voice sounded. 

“Good, then calm down. Whatever happened, it’s over,” Derek assured her. 

His simple demand was enough to make all the tension she was holding on to fall away, and that left her exhausted. Her eyes burned and her lungs felt like rubber. Becca relaxed against him and Derek put his arm over the back of the seat, giving her more room to get comfortable. Stiles came back, complaining about how gross the bathrooms were until he got a good look at her. He asked Derek for the keys to the truck and pulled out onto the highway without asking any questions.


	3. Nothing Like Good Whiskey

“There isn’t anything you can do about it, if she won't talk to you about what happened, you can’t make her,” Stiles said calmly. 

Derek rolled away from him, taking up his half of the bed instead of sharing the middle. Yes, he was frustrated, but it was also too hot to be cuddling. That’s what he told himself anyways, so he didn't feel like such an asshole. 

“You guys treat her too much like an adult.” Derek meant it even more than the last dozen times he said it. It bothered him Becca still hadn't explained how, or why she almost burned the dock down at the convenience store. It wasn’t an explanation he felt was negotiable. “Just because she did it with an inherited elemental power and not a lighter and kerosene doesn’t make it okay to dismiss. I don’t want to make her sound like a delinquent, but she might have been fucking around like one.” 

“You’re right,” Stiles admitted. 

“Did you actually just say that?” Derek asked as he sat up in bed and turned the light on. 

Stiles covered his eyes and sat up with him, scowling at the sudden flood of brightness. “Yeah, I did.” 

Stiles leaned back against the headboard and covered his eyes with the inside of his elbow instead of letting them get used to the brightness. He obviously assumed this conversation wasn't going to take long. They had argued about it all night, Stiles holding on to the opinion that Becca was responsible enough. She could be trusted, and her age wasn’t an issue. 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Derek disliked his own tone, but he was unwilling to police himself. After all the energy he had put into the argument, which Stiles apparently agreed with now, the least he deserved was an explanation. 

Stiles sighed and dropped his arm, giving in to the inevitability of having to continue the discussion. “Yes, I agree with you, but you can’t take away what responsibility she already has. Not unless you want to drive her nuts. She won’t do better. She’ll question herself and her ability to handle everything. All you can do is support her, help her do what she needs to do, or you’ll end up making an enemy out of her,” Stiles explained. 

His words weren’t any different than they had been all night. They were the same the last time Derek argued with him, but Stiles had never pointed out that taking away some of Becca’s responsibilities might make an enemy out of her. The context was illuminating. Derek had never considered that she probably wouldn’t take it well. She would assume she had done something wrong, or she was being punished, and she probably wouldn’t believe any kind of explanation to the contrary. 

“I don’t want to punish her, I just don't want her life to be so hard.” Derek finally stated the truth behind all his concern even though it felt like admitting defeat. He said it because he knew he wasn't going to get his way anyways. 

“I know, but Gran and Trudy decided Becca could handle it before I had much of a say in things like that. I was just a kid at the time too. If it would have been up to me I’d have moved in there myself, or let them choose someone else. I wouldn't have let her do it alone like she did.”

“Then why did it happen?” Derek asked. 

“Trudy thinks Becca is really forty five on the inside because Becca is so much smarter than Trudy, and Gran comes from a different time. When she was growing up people started life earlier because they had to. She didn't think Becca was too young at all, and there’s so many people around to help her. There were plenty of other options, but Gran didn’t consider them because she saw Becca as someone who was already mature enough to make those choices on her own,” Stiles explained. “Her real mistake was thinking Becca would ever ask for help.” 

“That’s absurd, she was only what? Seven, eight years old when Trudy stopped spending the day there?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, but you weren't around, Becca was more capable than half of the adults here," Stiles explained. "She sorta freaked me out and I’m almost ten years older than her. At seven years old she would come into the kitchen, pull out the step stool and organize the pantry for us. She used to leave post-it notes asking us to put things back where they belonged.” Stiles sighed like the memory alone was exhausting. “Sometimes when I saw her coming and I knew I looked like hell, I’d sit up and pull myself together just so she couldn’t give me shit.”

“That sounds like someone with serious control issues, not someone remarkably responsible,” Derek snapped. 

“Becca was like a bulldozer, control issues or not, she got shit done. Even Scott asked her for help when he was trying to find out more about how he became a true alpha, and Becca was only eight back then,” Stiles gestured, his hands open wide, trying to express how little control they had over Becca to begin with. 

“She acted like that because no one told her not to,” Derek was exasperated. Becca was terrified and needed a lot more than people gave her. “I don't want to be an asshole, but I feel like this huge, close knit family failed her completely.”

“How?” Stiles asked. He didn't look angry, he looked curious. 

“She didn't feel safe, that’s why she acted like that,” Derek said. “I know first hand. Laura acted the exact same way, for similar reasons, but she was a lot older than Becca was. There was no one in a position to argue with her.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded unhappily. “I agree with you, but we can't take back how other people chose to handle the situation. I know some of my decisions have probably sucked, and whoever comes along after me will have to deal with them, just the same.”

“Then why aren’t we fixing it?” Derek pressed. 

“That’s why we watch her and Bobby closer than any of the other kids. That’s as good as fixing gets,” Stiles explained. 

Derek let his head fall back against the headboard, fed up with the circular argument he was having with himself and Stiles. “Why are you talking with me about this now, after blowing me off for almost a year?” Derek asked. 

“Because it’s your business now.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Derek half expected Stiles to pull out a star chart and explain some crazy magical garbage to him, but he waited patiently for an answer anyways. 

“Becca treats you like you’re important to her. She chose you. She wants your help more than anyone else here, even Trudy. So, now it’s your business,” Stiles explained. 

“And it wasn't my business before because they weren’t my responsibility?” Derek asked. 

“No, they were mine and Trudy’s, but she obviously wants you to have a say now, so you can have one.” Stiles said it like he had just decided, so it made it true. “Can you handle that?” Stiles asked. 

“Of course I can. I love both of those kids, Bobby just doesn't sit still long enough for me to get to know him.” 

“Bobby is a well adjusted eleven year old boy. He might as well be a monkey with ADHD, but he’ll calm down soon enough. In the meantime, I think Becca is plenty to handle, don't you?” 

“Yes, but what does it mean I have a say? Do I get to be a part of this discussion now?” 

“When it comes to Becca. She’s the one leading it though. You have to talk to her.”

“How does that make sense? Kids don't get to choose their parents,” Derek stated unhappily. 

“They do around here because we respect them, and I don't think you realize that you already have this power. I’m not giving it to you, I'm just pointing it out,” Stiles stated. 

“I'm the one without any power here, that’s why I’m asking you to fix it,” Derek insisted. 

“You are so fucking literal sometimes, you know that?” Stiles smiled and rubbed a hand over his face, trying his best to control his exasperated sigh. “For one, you can’t make a fifteen year old girl do anything,” Stiles pressed. “Secondly, Becca hasn't told you what happened on the dock because she is terrified of disappointing you. I can tell you from experience, she was just fucking off and being silly. She thinks if you find out you’re going to scowl, be upset, and tell her she was embarrassing,” Stiles explained. 

“I’m not upset,” Derek said quickly. He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment and shook his head for being so blind and dense. “Actually I’m kind of relieved, if you really think she was just fucking off?” 

“Yes, I absolutely believe it was an impulsive accident. She was probably channeling fire to burn graffiti into the light pole. Probably curse words, or her initials,” Stiles laughed. 

“That’s really reckless,” Derek said, crossing his arms. 

“See, right there, that’s the face. You’re thinking ‘man that was stupid, I’m disappointed. She should have known better.’ and that’s what she’s terrified of.” 

“But it was a bad choice! Someone should tell her that,” Derek insisted. 

“Um, obviously, she’s figured that out on her own.” Stiles said a little too dramatically. “This is why we don’t punish Becca, or even get the chance to parent her. She figures out what she’s done wrong way before you do, and she’s far harder on herself that you could ever be.” 

The backward behavior and irony was almost too much. Derek wanted to grab someone, Trudy, Gran, maybe even Gwen and yell at them for how dysfunctional all of it was. But, like Stiles pointed out, all that would do was make Becca feel like there was something wrong with her. There wasn't anything wrong with Becca, except her unfortunate circumstance. She had made the best out of it, that was obvious, but it frustrated Derek beyond the telling of it every time he thought about how she had gotten there to begin with. 

“Okay, so what you’re saying is I just keep doing what I’ve been doing,” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, of course. It’s working for you guys, so don't fuck it up.” 

“I think I can do that,” Derek sighed as the fight drained out of him. 

“Even though you’re not entirely happy with the situation?” 

“I’m an idealist, I rarely get to be happy with a situation,” Derek said, even though he wasn't really an idealist anymore. He used to be, but his expectations had been lowered drastically over the years. 

“You’re a liar, and you’re fixating on this, but I don't think you’ve ever stopped to ask yourself why.” Stiles’ voice was soft and low in that weirdly enigmatic way he spoke when he was about to drop some epic truth bomb. 

Derek hated that because it made him nervous, and it felt unnecessarily dramatic. “Why?” he demanded. “And don't be all cryptic and shit. Just say what you’re thinking.” 

“You don't want me to drop this one on you. You need to ease into it,” Stiles warned him. 

“No, I don't. I can handle whatever it is, just tell me,” Derek insisted. Stiles shook his head and pursed his lips, not agreeing with Derek in a way that should have warned him off, but he wasn't that smart. “Tell me, because you’re just pissing me off now.” 

A painful expression flashed across Stiles face. He was really worried about what he was going to say. “I can’t, I’ve fucked this up, you shouldn’t--” 

“Stiles, tell me.” 

Stiles sighed and covered his face with his hands. He was upset, and making things worse for both of them by the second. Stiles looked over at him and took a deep breath, hardening himself against whatever he was about to say. “I think Peter is her dad. Both of them actually, Becca and Bobby.” Stiles immediately reached out for his shoulder. 

The hand should have helped, a little, but the anxiety and fear bubbling in Derek’s chest made him feel like he wasn't upright anymore. His heart pounded loudly and his face felt hot. “How do you--?” Derek started to ask, but dropped his question. Derek didn't want to know the answer. He didn’t care because he knew it was true. His chest was buzzing with some sort of excitement he didn’t quite understand. He wanted to laugh, smile, and be happy, but that was even more confusing. 

“Why am I scared to death and feeling like I want to throw a party at the same time?” Derek was sure Stiles could dismantle all of this confusing shit much quicker than he could. 

“Because your higher brain doesn't want to accept it as fact until you have undeniable proof, but your familial instinct recognized the truth a long time ago, and is really fucking happy you’re finally on board,” Stiles answered, making it all sound much more simple than it felt. “She looks like that picture that you have of your mom, the one Cora brought you.” 

 

“She does,” Derek nodded, stunned he hadn’t realized himself. 

“She looks more and more like Talia everyday,” Stiles pointed out. “That’s something your higher brain could miss, but your gut always knows.” 

The picture was in the living room, sitting on the shelf next to pictures of Stiles and his mother. Last year for Christmas, Stiles had gotten him a beautiful frame for it. Derek got out of bed and walked into the living room, his head feeling only half attached to the rest of him still. His foot smacked against the end table and he cursed loudly. The light flipped on and Stiles stood at the end of the hallway. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked, not even remotely confused as to why his werewolf boyfriend was suddenly unable to see in the dark. 

“Yeah, just a little preoccupied,” Derek muttered as he reached for the photo. 

The resemblance was unmistakable, but he had never looked at his mother's young face that way before. Now that he had it in front of him, he sort of hated himself for missing it. He never saw his mother young though. She was older when she had children, and she was over fifty when she died. She didn't look a lot like the picture when he knew her, but Peter knew his mother when she looked like that. Peter had seen Becca not that long ago, he had to know. 

“Of course he knows, he’s Bobby’s father too,” Derek said to himself. 

“Yeah, then there’s that,” Stiles said cautiously. 

Hands covered Derek’s shoulders and pushed him toward the kitchen. He plodded along mindlessly, his eyes barely glancing up from the picture as Stiles sat him down at the table. A hefty shot of whiskey and a pint of frozen yogurt magically appeared in front of him, then a spoon was in his hand. 

“Distract yourself the right way. I’m not talking anymore until you do. We’re not doing this thing where you fixate and turn this into a problem you have to solve,” Stiles warned him. 

“It is a problem, isn’t it?” Derek asked, putting down the photo so he could still see it. 

“No, it’s not. It’s a blessing, and a gift.” Stiles insisted. “The universe likes you and Becca and Bobby so much it threw you all back together all on its own.”

“But I--”

“Thinking of it like a problem, makes it a problem, not a gift. If you were Becca or Bobby, which would you want to be?” Stiles asked. 

“Jesus mother-fucking christ, how do you do this? I’m not--” Derek tried to sputter out.

“Shut up and eat your ice cream,” Stiles demanded. 

Being ordered around pissed Derek off. He didn't want the stupid frozen yogurt or the god damned whiskey, but he was the one who had no idea how to function anymore. So, he did as he was told. 

The whiskey hit his blood stream with a warm, relaxing burn. He didn't get drunk, but alcohol felt pleasant for a few minutes as it swam around in his body. The triple shot of whiskey would sit with him for a minute or two. The frozen yogurt was actually good. It was raspberry and tart lemon. His brain liked it more than he did. The anxiety that overwhelmed him relented a bit and settled low in his gut. By the time Stiles poured himself a shot, then left another one sitting on the table for Derek, some of the situation actually made sense. 

“What does treating it like a gift entail?” Derek asked around a mouthful of frozen yogurt. 

“The only thing keeping Peter away is the impression he’s hiding something from us,” Stiles said, allowing the discussion to continue, somehow satisfied with Derek’s state of mind. 

“If he knows we know, you think he’ll come around?” 

“Yes, I think he won't have any reason not to. He might demand visitation, or act like he has some rights or something, and none of that would be good for anyone.” 

“So we just pretend we don't know?” 

“Until Bobby is a little older and can tell Peter to eat a bag of dicks, yeah.” 

“I don't know if I can do that.” Derek admitted. 

“Yes, you can, because you will always do what is best for them, and this is what's best for them. Becca would agree with you in a hot second, so would Trudy or Gran. Your feelings don't mean anything if they jeopardize the safety of those children. And you would do the same for any kid here, not just Becca or Bobby.” Stiles explained emphatically. 

Stiles was right, it was much bigger than Derek’s feelings or anyone else’s. Peter was dangerous. He wasn't a problem, he was a threat. A person couldn’t solve a threat, they could only manage it or eradicate it. 

“I could kill him,” Derek suggested, picking up the whiskey and swirling it a little as he contemplated the implications. 

“I thought of that, but I don't know if Becca or Bobby will forgive anyone who kills their father before they get a chance to see how much of a D-bag he is. You’d only be writing the recipe for martyrdom, and potentially alienating one or both of them.” Stiles had carefully considered it already. 

“How long have you known?” Derek asked. 

“How long have I suspected? About seven years. That was the first time I got close enough to see Peter Hale’s eyes. They are a very distinct shade of dark blue. A color that does not exist anywhere in the Monroe family line, but I’ve seen that shade of blue in one other person,” Stiles said. 

“Bobby,” Derek muttered.

Stiles nodded. “It’s the same sort of dark blue almost all babies are born with, but his never changed. Everyone thought it was quite remarkable.” Stiles sighed like remembering how great everyone else thought it was made the truth so much more painful. 

“How could you keep this to yourself all this time and not tell me?” Derek asked, suddenly realizing how big of a secret it was. 

“How else would you have liked this to go? When would have been a better time for you? After we first had sex, or maybe before we moved in together?” Stiles asked. 

“I don't know,” Derek admitted. The moment of self righteous anger passed as fast as it came. Stiles wasn't psychic, he didn't know the perfect time to say things, and there had been a lot of transitions leading up to this one. They hadn't been idle people for the last three years, they had been busy living a complicated life. 

“Would you have loved them more if you knew?” Stiles asked. 

“No, I don’t--“ Derek moved to defend himself, but stopped as he realized he had always showed them special attention. He always liked their company, and he had always taken care of them, as much as they let him. 

“You’ve done good without any help from me. If you hated them or thought they were annoying, maybe I would have said something sooner, but you fell into it without anyone’s help. Maybe it was because they needed someone more than I realized, or maybe it was some deep seated genetic instinct? Either way, you already treat them like they’re family.” 

“They were always hanging around you, it was pretty easy,” Derek pointed out. 

“Yeah, I took care of them a lot, but all of us fell into it easy because you fit. You were always supposed to be here.” Stiles was leaning heavily on his theory that the universe dictated the important things in their lives. 

“Sometimes I feel like all that Catholic, Buddhist, Elemental, Voodoo Dharma is complete shit. Then something like this happens and you know? This kind of coincidence is fucking unreal. It can’t possibly be, but if it’s not true, what is all this?” Derek asked. 

“Orchestrated chaos,” Stiles answered. 

“But what are we being orchestrated for?” 

“That, I don't know. I don't think anyone knows, but I think we’re doing okay so far, don't you?” 

“Maybe, unless we’re just fucking dense and we were supposed to kill Peter a long time ago,” Derek said as he scraped the bottom of the pint of frozen yogurt. 

“That asshole is not that important. Never think he’s that important. That would be a mistake.” Stiles warned. 

“Why?” 

“Because his ego will hear it across the bayou and swell like a hot air balloon until it blots out the fucking sun,” Stiles chuckled. 

“Right, because this is hilarious,” Derek said dryly. 

“That was funny.” Stiles smiled, waiting for him to agree.

“God dammit, you aren’t supposed to make jokes like that, not about stuff like this,” Derek laughed, but still avoiding Stiles’ eyes. 

“This is the shit we have to laugh about, or we will never sleep,” Stiles kicked at him under the table, illustrating his annoyance at being awake because it was after midnight and they were supposed to be up in a few hours. 

“Maybe... “ Derek tossed the empty pint into the trash and turned the spoon over in his hands a few times, thinking. “Thank you for always making this stuff easier than it probably should be.” 

“Eh, it comes with the territory,” Stiles shrugged, smiling as he put his feet up in Derek’s lap and sat back in his chair. 

“What territory does it come with?” Derek grinned, pushing his feet back on the floor and standing up. He reached out for Stiles and pulled him to his feet as well. 

“You know?” Stiles grinned. “Awesome boyfriend, mediator, guy in charge. Pretty much all those things require the ability to manage complicated and sometimes explosive personalities.” 

“Explosive personalities? Really?” Derek narrowed his eyes, challenging Stiles to back up his accusation. 

Stiles laughed as he stood up and stretched. “You’re gonna say that when there’s a dent the size of your foot in my end table?” 

“That was an accident!” Derek exclaimed, jumping up to follow Stiles as he backed through the living room, into the hallway. 

“The washing machine door?” 

“I fixed that.” 

“The refrigerator?” 

“I bought you a new one.” 

“See, none of that is proof against what I’m saying. They’re examples backing me up,” Stiles laughed. “Did you really have to crush the old one though?” Stiles stopped as he backed himself against the bed. 

“You couldn't hear that high pitched noise it kept making.” Derek crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You could have just unplugged it?” 

“That would not have been nearly as satisfying,” Derek pushed Stiles back on the bed. That was always pretty satisfying too. 

Laughing, Stiles crawled under the sheets, then pulled them back so Derek could get in. Stiles wouldn't sleep if Derek wasn't in bed at least making an attempt, and he needed rest more than Derek did. He wasn't tired anymore, but he would be if he made himself relax for a while. He also needed time to contemplate everything he had accidentally dug up. Stiles was right, there wasn't a time when it would have been more convenient or better to find out. At the moment Becca and Bobby were the only thing Derek had to contend with. Derek started the conversation about Becca in the first place because he had too much time to think about it. 

One thing at a time. Another thing Gran always said was, god never gave them more than they could handle. It was one of those country folkisms she was so fond of, but sometimes those sayings made far too much sense. Derek hoped Stiles didn't say shit like that when he was old, but it was probably inevitable. Derek grinned at the thought as Stiles made himself comfortable, laying his head against Derek’s shoulder. Stiles’ ran a hand across his bare chest and let it settle at the base of his neck. Derek reached over and turned off the light. Outside the window the stars and a little sliver of the moon came into focus as his eyes adjusted to the dark. 

If the kids were Hales, then Bobby might be a born werewolf. It was highly likely because the Hale line was strong and Becca couldn't be one, or her elemental abilities never would have manifested. They would have skipped her and gone to someone else. At least that’s how Derek understood it. It wasn’t true for him, but he was one of a kind, an enigma. He had been fixated on that for a long time. Maybe it was time to start putting his family first instead of his studies. Maybe Derek had spent enough time on himself. 

It was easy to imagine Bobby asking Scott to be a werewolf someday. He idolized Scott and Kira, and spent a lot of time at their house. Scott wouldn’t agree until Bobby was much older, If Bobby wanted that, but they could have talked about it. Derek didn’t talk to Bobby. He was going to talk to Scott tomorrow and find out, but Derek might not have ever known what Bobby wanted. That made him feel like he had done something wrong or failed Bobby in some way. Derek wondered why Bobby liked Scott so much more than him. They mostly played video games together. Something Derek didn't do often. Maybe that was it. 

“I know what you said before about money, but--” 

“Derek, I can't have this conversation or I swear to god I’m not sleeping tonight,” Stiles threatened. 

“I was going to ask about the kids, not the village fund,” Derek explained. 

“I know, and everything I said before still applies: you can't throw the Hale millions around in here. We don't work that way. You’ve already done far more than we ever needed you to do,” Stiles reminded him. 

“I know and I don't want to change things, but I can buy them stuff now right?” 

“You know what? You can't ask me this shit anymore. You have to use your best judgement.”

“I don’t know what my best judgement is, that’s why I’m asking,” Derek growled unhappily. 

“Fine,” Stiles huffed. “I guarantee if you buy them shit they don't need, they’ll just get weird. So do yourself a favor and don’t spoil them. You can't make up for missed time with money and crap they don’t care about.” 

“I can send them to college,” Derek pointed out. 

“We can send everyone to college with that fucking trust you set up for the village. Will you just go to sleep already?” Stiles scooted closer, maybe hoping his proximity would distract Derek. “I know you're being Awesome Uncle, but you’re already so good at Awesome Uncle, don't fuck it up by trying too hard.” 

“Sorry,” Derek sighed, smiling as he thought about the fact he was an awesome uncle, for real. In the literal family sense he was an awesome cousin actually, but Stiles said Awesome Uncle. That sounded better. “I’m excited,” Derek whispered. 

“I know. That’s why I love you,” Stiles said. His face was smashed against Derek’s shoulder, muffling his voice. 

“I love you too,” Derek said.


	4. Sisters, and Brothers, and Mothers

Every year before hurricane season they cleaned out the gardens and dried as many fruits and vegetables as they could. Some of it had to be canned, like pickling cucumbers and beans. This year Gran decided Becca would be in charge of canning, and Gran would help. It was a long overdue concession on her grandmother’s part because she was much older than she looked, or acted. It was easy for everyone to overlook all the hard work Gran did like it was normal, but it was far past time for her to slow down and delegate more. 

"Gran, if I can print these labels on my printer, from my computer, would you be okay with that?" Becca held up the sheet of sticky labels for the large, half gallon jars, sure she could format page to fit if she couldn’t find one already made online. 

"Child, if you can make any of it easier with your computers and smart phones, please be my guest." Gran gave Becca a kind smile as she dried out one of the huge mason jars. 

It didn't seem right pasting some impersonal font over the label when the pantry was full of jars with Gran’s long, elegant script stating the contents and the date on each one. Becca took out her new phone, a gift from Derek, and snapped a photo of the dill pickle label from last year. She zoomed in, satisfied with the quality of the picture, and went to the pantry to take pictures of all of the labels. 

The phone had shown up on her kitchen table after the last trip to Houma, when she asked to be dropped off at the mall with Bobby while Derek and Trudy picked things up at the hardware store. The only one of them with a cell phone was Derek, and for some reason that was a big issue for him as he discussed with Trudy if they should be allowed to explore the mall on their own. Trudy thought he was being unreasonable even questioning it, citing the fact that both she and Bobby were allowed to roam the countryside unsupervised. Derek made them promise to be in the food court by five, and gave her his cell phone, just in case she had an emergency. 

Nothing happened of course. They roamed the mall aimlessly, not having any money to speak of to spend, but neither of them wanted to stand around bored in the hardware store. Bobby asked her a hundred questions she had no answers to, like why would boys wear shirts with gold paint them, and how come the mall sold african fertility statues. Becca felt like she was in a zoo and she and Bobby were the only civilized people amongst the caged animals. Of course anyone who noticed them probably thought they were the uncivilized one’s with their mud stained shoes and cut off jeans. The only place she really liked was the bookstore. Thankfully, Bobby was happy in the game section taking pictures of all the board games he wanted for christmas with Derek’s phone. 

Cell phones didn't work to call people so far out in the wilds, but she lived with everyone she wanted to talk to. She used it for more interesting things anyways. Every time she went into town she found new applications that worked offline to take notes, scan pages of books, and sort the dozens of research photos she took every day. Even Gran was happy when Becca showed her the digital copy of the oldest book in their collection, each page laid out in the reading application with the translation to the right. No one would have to handle it anymore. The book would maintain it’s integrity for much longer. Becca felt like some sort of archeologist when they wrapped the book up in parchment and rice paper and stored it on the top shelf, leaving a flash card in a case on the shelf in it’s old place. 

A few hours after she was done cataloging the vegetable jars Becca came back for dinner with a stack of printed labels in hand. She dropped them on the table in Gran’s place so she could approve them later and went to work setting places for everyone. Becca was almost done filling the baskets with napkins when she spotted Gran looking the labels over. Gran set down the bowl of biscuits she was carrying and motioned Becca to join her. 

“These are perfect Becca, I love them.” Gran smiled. Her round cheeks lifted as the skin around her eyes crinkled like a beautiful maze of feathered brown lines. “We get to keep some of our people through the written words they've left behind, but they covered all the book learning long before my time. I never thought I would leave anything but good memories. Now the family can still have my chicken scratch long after I’m gone.” Gran laughed and hugged Becca’s shoulders, then kissed her on the cheek. “I was always best in the kitchen anyways," she teased. 

“That’s really awesome Becca,” Scott said, looking over Gran’s shoulder. 

“This is the best gift I’ve ever received.” Gran said as she sifted through the pages, looking over each set. “Thank you child.” 

Unsure how to respond, Becca watched her grandmother closely, sure she would find something she wanted Becca to improve. All she intended to do was make Gran’s life easier, but she had accidentally created a humble and underwhelming legacy that almost made Gran cry she was so touched. Many Monroes had left behind books full of experience and instructions for channelers and otherworldly incarnations alike, even Gran's father, but Gran always said she didn't need to write a book. Everyone before her did it better than she could hope for.

Suddenly Scott came around the table and pulled her off her feet into a suffocating bear hug. Becca laughed as Scott patted her back, silently telling her how awesome she was. His smile was pure sunshine, and it didn’t take much to make him happy, but he was elated. She loved Scott. Sometimes she didn’t know how to handle his exuberance though. 

The worst part was how painfully proud Gran was of Becca’s efforts. Every time Gran showed someone else coming in for dinner, and gushed about how smart Becca was, she wished she would have set the photo quality higher on her phone, or taken a little more time creating a font out of Gran’s writing for the dates. When Gran included her in grace, thanking God for such a sweet and beautiful granddaughter, Becca promised herself she would do it all again even better. Enough at least to feel like she deserved some of the unadulterated praise. 

“I would have gotten you a phone ages ago if I would have known what you were going to do with it.” Derek leaned over and whispered during dinner. 

“I utilize the tools at my disposal.” Becca smiled and handed him the salt when he pointed to it. “Did you think I’d post selfies to facebook all day?” she teased. 

“That’s what teenagers usually do with smartphones, but I guess you don't have any idea how to be a typical teenager,” Derek said dryly. 

“And you have an idea?” Becca asked, raising her eyebrows, questioning his expertise. 

“I was a teenager, and I lived with Laura for nineteen years. I know exactly how teenage girls are supposed to act,” Derek nodded with mock authority. “Gorgeous selfies, all day.”

“Oh, my god,” Becca snickered. “You’re only saying that because Laura looks just like you.” She laughed at Derek’s raised eyebrows. “So vain,” she hissed accusingly. 

“Laura is really pretty!” Bobby interjected defensively, glaring at Becca from his seat across from her. 

“Yes she is,” Stiles stated matter-of-fact before Becca could be annoyed at Bobby taking her comment out of context. “And she does look an awful lot like Derek, minus the giant forehead and stubble, of course." 

“Becca looks like Derek too,” Bobby said before shoveling a huge bite of biscuit in his mouth. 

“We don't look that much alike.” Becca shook her head, wondering why Bobby said such random, embarrassing things all the time. 

“Yesh you do!” Bobby argued, trying to swallow the biscuit whole before he spoke again. “You look like Cora too, Laura said so!” 

“Laura said that?” Derek asked Bobby. 

“Yeah, she said Becca looked most like your mom though, but I don't remember her name, only how she died,” Bobby said much more calmly because he was sure Derek would be on his side. 

Derek looked over at her with a scowl, making Becca feel like she was being interrogated all the sudden. She looked up at Derek and shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t entertain Bobby’s weirdness. “He’s probably making it up,” she said dismissively. 

“I’m not lying! She said that Derek!” Bobby’s voice raised an octave with his outrage. 

“Bobby is not lying. Apologize to your brother Rebecca,” Gran said quietly. 

“I’m sorry Bobby,” Becca said immediately. Bobby sat back in his chair and went right back to eating, though he was glaring at his plate. No one else said anything. Becca was thankful Gran’s reprimand seemed to squash the conversation. 

“Are you going out with your dad tonight for last rounds?” Derek asked Stiles. 

“Yeah, no one else is there with him. Frank is out on the rig till September this year,” Stiles said. 

Normally Becca would be elated to hear that Stiles would be gone, but Derek’s question came far too quickly after Bobby’s outburst to be a coincidence. For months Becca and Derek had been sneaking out at night to test Derek’s abilities and limitations. Stiles was adamantly against any of them testing abilities he felt were potentially lethal and unnecessary to learning how to control their power. He wasn't willing to compromise because Derek was a werewolf, and nearly indestructible, so they took their curiosity far away from the village where Stiles technically didn't have a say in what they did, though they both knew he wouldn't be happy if he ever found out. It didn't matter enough to stop them. She and Derek had been study partners, learning about their abilities together for years. They weren't going to stop because the risk was a little higher and that annoyed Stiles. 

Sometimes Becca worried about how far Derek wanted to push himself, but he always listened to reason. She wished she could explain it to Stiles and not keep it a secret anymore, but she was sure Stiles would be angry with Derek. Stiles wouldn't listen because it looked dangerous on the outside. Derek was always willing to take smaller steps, or change his method of testing if it made Becca nervous. He wasn't some foolish child trying to figure out what could hurt him. He was trying to figure out everything he could do, and they both believed it was the most important thing he could be doing with his power. 

Together they had made huge discoveries about how Derek worked, what he could do, and how his abilities changed as he used them more. Becca counted on Derek doing the same for her someday, but she doubted she would be as curious or daring as he was. Becca was still looking forward to whatever Derek had planned, but the question Bobby posed, and how seriously Derek seemed to be taking it, made her uncomfortable. 

The only answer to that unasked question was Peter Hale, and that was a possibility she exterminated like a cockroach the day they met in the diner. The few thoughts she had on the subject terrified her. She didn’t want to hear what Derek thought, or answer any questions he might have. It would make the possibility too real. It hurt a little thought because Peter’s bad reputation was the only thing standing between she and Derek, maybe, actually, being related. It was almost enough for Becca to convince herself to open that door in her mind again, but she kept it shut tight for Bobby’s sake. Peter Hale was the last person she wanted Bobby to have any interested in.

“What did you guys do today Bobby?” Derek asked, wanting to know where Cora and Laura had taken them when they went out. 

“We went to the ice cream store in Houma, then Laura wanted to go to the mall, but Becca said no,” Bobby said accusingly. He was still holding a grudge. 

“You didn't want to go to the mall?” Trudy asked. “When I was your age all I wanted to do was go to the mall, or anywhere, really.” 

“The only place I like in there is the bookstore,” Becca said. “Everything else is just obnoxious and loud.” Sometimes when she was in a place with so many people, and so much noise, it was hard to think, or even breathe. It was okay to waste time there in the middle of the day, with Bobby. Then it was quiet and sort of like sightseeing. But a Saturday trip, shopping and getting lost in the crowds? That sounded more like torture than fun. “We took Tommy to the park just outside the city. The one with the big slide.” Becca reminded Bobby they still had a lot of fun. 

“I want to go again, and take Charlie next time,” Tommy added. He wanted to include his best friend in the fun. 

“Next time Charlie won't be sick, Bud. He’ll be happy to go,” Trudy assured him. 

After dinner Bobby was still pissed on the way home. Trying to punish her the only way he could, Bobby walked far behind to avoid speaking to her. Becca stopped at the top of the stairs and waited for him. He paused at the bottom and narrowed his eyes, determined to wait for her to go in before he came up. He was ridiculous and exasperating sometimes. 

“Bobby, come on,” Becca pointed at the porch in front of her, demanding he stop acting like a jerk and come join her. A long moment passed as Bobby contemplated her tone, and what giving in would mean. Eventually he relented and headed for the door like he was going to walk past. “Wait, I need to tell you something,” Becca whispered. 

“What?” Bobby snapped. His dark blue eyes were glassy in the porch light as he looked up at her. 

“I’m sorry Bobby, I wasn’t trying to be mean to you, it’s just--” Becca sighed, scared of how to explain it all to him. “What you said means things you don’t understand.” 

“How we might be related to Derek, Cora, and Laura?” he asked in an oddly hopeful way, then scowled like she had done something wrong. “Come on Becca, get real. Someone has to be our dad. If it was Peter Hale, then they’re our cousins. They’re our family. Why are you acting like that might be bad?” Bobby was trying to speak quietly, but he was about to cry he was so upset. “It would be the best thing that’s ever happened to us. I love Laura.” 

“Did Laura tell you about Peter?” Becca asked. 

“No, I figured it out on my own when she said you looked like her mom,” Bobby said defensively. “I asked her how long Peter had been in Louisiana, and she said about sixteen years and--” Bobby gasped a little and shut his mouth like he almost said things he wasn't supposed to. 

“What did she say?” Becca asked when Bobby started looking nervous. He was looking around, checking the parish house and Trudy’s porch next door for signs of life. 

“She said a lot of people born in the Hale family become werewolves.” Worry lines crinkled between Bobby’s dark eyebrows. 

“That’s one of the reasons I’m scared of them, but mostly because Peter Hale is a bad guy Bobby. He was so bad god put Scott here to make sure he didn’t do anything too evil,” Becca tried to explain. 

“Scott isn’t that awesome of an enemy. Peter can't be that bad.” Bobby rolled his eyes, not understanding because he didn't know much about the werewolves besides the fact he thought they were cool, they hunted for the family, and he wasn't allowed to go. 

“He’s bad Bobby. I don't say people are bad, think about it. If I’m telling you he’s a bad guy, you need to believe me.”

“If he’s so bad, why do Laura and Cora live with him?” 

“We don't know. None of us really understand, but sometimes I think maybe they stay because they feel responsible. They want to make sure he doesn't do bad things either.”

“Then why didn’t Derek stay? He’s way more of a badass than Scott,” Bobby argued. 

“Because he was called here,” Becca reminded him. 

“Oh,” Bobby said, understanding just like they all did that people who were called to their village always ended up there, no matter how hard they tried to go somewhere else. 

“Don’t say anything to Mom okay?” she warned. “I know you might be curious, but if it is Peter, he might have done something to her to make her like she is. We don't know what she might do if we say his name or bring him up, okay?” Becca asked. 

Confusion gave way to anger as Bobby considered her request. His deep scowl and downturned mouth was proof enough she had made her point. He was just as angry as she was at the idea that anyone might have inflicted the suffering they lived with on their mother. Anyone suspected of being the culprit had no chance of love from either of them until they were cleared of any wrongdoing. They had no mercy on that point. Becca was satisfied enough with the scowl to be sure Bobby wouldn’t try to find out more from their mother, or run off to Peter anytime soon looking for answers. 

After Becca gave Gwen dinner and cleaned up the kitchen, Bobby whispered her name loudly from the top of the stairs. He motioned to her to follow him up quietly and disappeared into the dark hallway toward his room. It was strange behavior for him. It worried her enough to rush up after him. When she opened his door and went into his room, she promised herself she would help him clean it in the morning. She didn't even want to brave walking across the floor. 

“Becca, what if I’m a werewolf?” Bobby’s face was scrunched into a painful, worried expression as he blurted out his concerns. 

“Bobby, please don't worry about that.” Becca reached out and pulled him close. She hugged him tight, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He sighed into her hair, doing his best impression of a hug as the worry and tension drained out of him. “Either way, you have nothing to worry about," Becca continued. "Either you are, and you couldn't be luckier having Derek, Scott, Kira, and the rest of the pack, or you’re not.” 

“I’m scared though,” Bobby admitted painfully. 

“I was scared when Trudy figured out I was fire, not earth like I hoped, but it’s just another part of my life now. You’ve heard me say so,” Becca reminded him. “Our pack is the best, and you could go hunting with them finally. But the chances are so small you can't let yourself worry about it, or get your hopes up, okay?” 

“How would I know if I was though?” Bobby asked, still not convinced. “Could I wake up someday and just be all scrunchy faced and hairy? What if I hurt mom?” 

“No, you can’t.” Becca assured him. “You’d get a fever like you were sick first, and you’d feel really bad for a while. We would all know for sure a long time before you were dangerous. I promise.” She didn't feel good leaving it at that. It sounded too ominous. Becca pulled back and looked him in the eye, wiping away the wetness from his round cheeks. “You would not be alone. You are in the one place you and everyone else is safe being whatever they are.”

“I don't want to be like that though,” Bobby cringed and fresh tears tumbled down his cheeks. 

“I know you’ve already talked to Scott about it,” Becca admitted. “The only reason you’re worried is because you never thought there was a possibility you would be weird like me without making the choice to be, but I’m telling you, it’s not that bad. It doesn't have to be scary. Not here, not with us.” 

Some siblings might be jealous of Becca’s abilities, but Bobby had always maintained he didn't want responsibilities like hers, he wasn’t interested in being anything but a normal kid who tolerated his weird family well. Sometimes he talked about hunting with Scott like it was the next best thing, but when he talked about the future, he talked about joining John on the river crawfishing, or short haul truck driving like Jason. He never had big ideas about life. He was surrounded by big ideas, and larger than life people. Being quiet and normal was the novelty to Bobby. 

“I’m scared of being a monster,” Bobby admitted finally. 

“None of the werewolves you know are monsters,” Becca said a little unkindly. None of them thought or said such terrible things about people like werewolves. 

“If Peter is so bad though, I might be.” Bobby said in a frantic whisper. “I’m nothing like Mom. I don't look anything like her. I don't feel like I fit in with anyone else, and I don't even like half the food everyone else loves, so I must be like him,” Bobby’s voice gained panic as he listed off support of his theory. 

“You are wrong.” Becca was firm and unwavering because that’s what Bobby needed. “You like plenty of the same stuff the rest of the Monroe’s like. You like sweet pickles like Gran, and you watch Jackass with Scott when no one else will, not even Stiles, and you look a lot like Grandpa. You know that. Gran says you laugh like he used to. You’re just psyching yourself out because you’re scared.” 

Bobby rubbed his eyes hard and let out a deep, annoyed sigh. “I’m being dumb,” he sighed. 

“This stuff isn’t easy.” Becca felt like she was saying something too obvious. 

“It felt easy, sort of,” Bobby argued. 

“That’s because none of it was really your problem,” Becca pointed out. 

Looking a little guilty, Bobby scratched his arms and fidgeted with his hands for a minute before he worked up the courage to say what he was thinking. “I don't help with Mom enough.” 

“You help plenty,” Becca assured him gently. She didn't want Bobby to feel like he had to tie himself down any more than he already was. 

“I could help more. I will help more. I won't make you ask me to do stuff all the time, okay?” he offered. 

“If you feel like you can do that. You can't half ass things with Mom though,” Becca warned. “We know now she can get dangerous in the right circumstance. We can’t do anything to provoke her because we feel frustrated or overwhelmed. You have to make sure you don’t do more than you can handle because if something goes wrong, Stiles might make her leave.” 

“I know, I won’t, but I can do stuff like make her lunch more and put away her clothes and stuff. I do that all the time. I just wait for you to ask me because I didn't really want to,” Bobby admitted. 

“I wouldn’t mind not having to ask. I know you can do most of those sorts of things, like cleaning your room.” Becca pointed to the mess of clothes and comic books accumulating on the floor. “I just don't expect you to because I didn't want to when I was your age either.” 

“I know, but you did it anyways.” Bobby looked around the room with a determined expression, his promise sounding sincere. “I’ll clean it before I go to bed, and I’ll be better, I promise.” 

“Thank you,” Becca smiled, really appreciating Bobby for the first time in a long while. It had been too long since they acted like a real team instead of just keeping up the routine they were used to. 

“I’m sorry you had to be like my mom instead of like my sister,” Bobby said, proving he was far more observant than she usually gave him credit for. 

“I don’t act like your mom,” Becca laughed. “I act like your older sister, I promise. If I acted like your mom I would be able to ground you and lock you in your room when you were an asshole.” Bobby laughed even though he was easily thankful she didn't have that kind of power over him. “I have to go, I need to meet Derek. I’ll make sure Mom goes to bed before I go,” Becca said. 

“Can I go with you guys sometime?” Bobby asked. 

“I’ll ask,” she promised. Bobby smiled then turned to look at his messy floor with determination as she left his room.


	5. And Fathers

After Becca coaxed her mom through getting ready for bed, then stopped for a minute to admire Bobby’s hard work, she met Derek at Kira’s truck. They got in quietly and drove with the headlights off down the long road to the highway. Derek waited until they were out on the asphalt to turn on the headlights and turn down the radio. 

“I heard you and Bobby talking,” Derek admitted. 

“Are you going to ask him then?” Becca asked even though she was afraid to. She didn't want to say Peter’s name and she was sure she didn't have to. 

“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.” Derek shook his head. “If the answer is yes, asking him might make him brave enough to come around.” Derek’s hands gripped the steering wheel too tight for a moment. Becca couldn't see his expression well in the dark. She wished she could tell what he was thinking. “You do look like my mother though, more than coincidence can reasonably explain,” Derek said cautiously. 

“You don’t think we need to ask him,” Becca stated, understanding the implications of Derek’s words. It wasn’t absolute proof, but it was enough evidence she would have been arguing in favor of being a Hale wholeheartedly if it didn't scare her so much. 

“It’s better if he keeps on thinking he’s keeping a big secret. I think--” Derek hesitated like he was unsure of his words. “I’d rather assume it’s true, unless you or Bobby has a problem with that?” 

“No, Bobby's fine, and I don't want... him to find out we know either.” Becca was still unable to say Peter’s name, not when he was the cause of the dread pooling in her stomach. 

“I agree, I think it’s better that way,” Derek assured her. “If it’s not true, I don't care. I’d rather think of you and Bobby as Hales than pretend you belong to some random stranger for the sake of convenience.” 

Being a Hale wasn’t something she had considered before. Derek said the name like it meant something, like it was a legacy or a title that gave her certain rights and privileges. She had a family, she didn’t need to belong to his. She wanted Derek to keep belonging to hers. That had been enough so far, even with Laura and Cora around. Becca wanted desperately for Derek and Laura to keep being enough for her and Bobby respectively, at least until Bobby was older and wasn’t so vulnerable. 

“Are you going to tell Stiles?” Becca asked. Mostly she wanted to know if she had a choice in anyone else knowing. 

“Stiles considered the possibility years ago, when the stuff with Scott happened. He has these outrageous theories about the lunar eclipse and why your mother might not have known Peter was a werewolf, but it’s all...” Derek smiled softly. “It’s Stiles, he’s made gigantic leaps in his deductive reasoning, but--” 

“He’s usually right,” Becca interrupted, saving Derek the trouble of convincing her that Stiles had very likely figured it all out a long time ago. But without proof, or any benefit in sharing, he kept it to himself. “I get it, I would have kept my mouth shut too if I was him.” 

“Becca, this isn’t just about the facts. We can talk about how you feel. It’s okay if you’re upset with Stiles, or me, or anyone.” 

“I’m not mad at you,” Becca shook her head, not understanding why Derek would think she could be mad at him for any of it. None of it was his choice, and he hadn’t lied to her or hidden anything. He was the one person she could trust to be on her side, without question. “I know you’re doing your best. I can't fault anyone for that, even if it pisses me off.” She hoped Derek would buy it because she only half believed the mature and intelligent sounding words that came out of her mouth. 

“That’s a very benevolent thing to say. Whenever you’re tired of towing the line and putting on a good face, I’ll be here,” Derek promised, seeing right through her.

Silence and time to think was all she really wanted, and Derek was always happy to give her that. He said his piece, gave her what he had, and let her know he was in it with her. It was more than she could ask for, and exactly what she expected from him. It made staying calm and clinical easier. Derek hadn’t removed her from her life cautiously, taken her aside and given her the information with the expectation she would freak out or take it badly. He trusted her with it. He knew she could handle it like every other life changing thing they discussed so casually. Most of it wasn't so personal, but it was all the same layer cake of chaos they dealt with just about every day. 

They were heading out to the bayou where they practiced risking Derek’s life like it was science because they both consumed by the need to know, simply for the sake of knowing. Knowledge would always be far more important than feelings, no matter how personal or dangerous they were. The dread in her stomach could wait. Becca pushed it away, separating herself, because ultimately she had nothing to fear. Even if she was alone, even if she had no one, she was powerful all on her own. More powerful than Peter could ever hope to be on his best day. Derek understood that, and he trusted her to not be afraid, angry maybe, but not scared. So she wouldn't be. 

At the marina Becca jumped out and went to grab their bags out of the back of the truck. Derek stopped her and pulled her back near the cab, hiding away from a small group of crabbers coming in off the dock. 

“Are you okay going out tonight? None of this is important enough if you need some time,” Derek asked. 

“I’m fine. I would rather be busy doing this anyways. The last thing I want is go home and be bored,” she assured him. Becca wasn't worried about having to work, or use her brain, but she was afraid of what might happen if she let it go idle. 

“You’re right, let’s go,” Derek agreed. He was likely just as put off at the idea of being bored and fixating as she was. 

The broken, ugly fishing boat Derek bought was barely seaworthy. Half of it only worked because he was strong enough to do everything manually. The deck of the boat was pitted and scratched so badly it looked like gravel. Most of the damage was from the anchor chain because the winch engine was broken. Derek went below deck to manually turn over the main motor, because the starter was broken as well. Becca had offered to fix it, but Derek said it wasn’t worth the trouble of breaking into. He thought if they started to fix it they would end up having to rebuild the whole thing. When it came time to sell the boat, or give it to someone else, Derek would probably fix it, or pay to have it repaired. Becca was unsure if that was ironic, or just unfortunate. Derek had millions of dollars hidden away in banks somewhere, but never bought himself anything nice. 

When the engine coughed and sputtered to life, Becca twisted the wheel in her hands, guiding the boat away from the mooring slowly. She had driven the boat on her own so many times it was like second nature. She waited to pick up speed once she was in a clear lane, heading out to deeper water. Neither of them were officially licensed to operate the boat, she wasn't even old enough to begin with, but somehow no one cared. Becca suspected that had a lot more to do with money, and how much Derek was willing to pay for the convenience of being invisible, than luck. She decided a long time ago to not question it. Sometimes that made life with Derek a lot easier. 

“What was my last time?” Derek asked. 

“10:40 at the mile mark,” Becca answered. 

“I can do better than that. It’s still getting to me though, the feeling like I need to breathe,” Derek said. 

“I stand by my theory,” Becca argued. 

“I know, but--” Derek drew in a sharp breath and shook his head. “Maybe... okay, maybe. I don't know if I’m willing to accept that the entire thing is psychosomatic. If I am absorbing enough oxygen from the water through my skin to keep myself oxygenated, I should be able to feel it.”

“We have had this discussion, what? Five times?” Becca was already exasperated with Derek’s unwillingness to admit he could be that susceptible to psychosomatic conditioning when it came to something as basic as breathing. It was ridiculous, anyone would be. 

“Have it one more time, convince me,” Derek challenged her as he pulled on a pair of black, neoprene fingerless gloves. 

Becca still wasn't sure what the gloves were for, besides looking cool, and she wasn't about to ask, just in case they were. She might actually lose respect for him. “Okay, fine. You aren’t feeling the sensation from the oxygenation in your skin because your brain is hardwired to breathe one way. The survival instinct is too strong and the anxiety from not breathing overrides any other sensory input. Evidence stands that your ability to heal does not account for the oxygen your muscles need to complete such a physically challenging swim. You have to be getting your oxygen from somewhere.” 

“That was so abbreviated and dumbed down,” Derek teased. “Are you sure your head is in the game?” 

“Yes, I’m sure it is because I am so annoyed,” Becca scoffed. “I’ve had to pitch that shit to you so many times I know I don't need to explain it all again.” 

“Fine,” Derek laughed.

“So?” Becca pressed impatiently. “Will you try it then?”

“The meditation?” Derek asked, like she was crazy. 

“Yes! The meditation! I sent you that video, I know you watched it.” Sometimes Becca wondered why Derek rejected the science of spirituality so quickly, especially when Stiles was so immersed in it. 

“I know how to meditate. I didn't need to watch it. I’m not sure if I can handle meditating surrounded by gators and giant catfish though.” The trepidation in Derek’s voice made it more clear. 

“You are not going to get eaten!” Becca laughed. “Are you seriously still freaked out? I’m not even afraid of the alligators or catfish and I can't hear them coming a mile off.” 

“Yeah, and you can't hear how many of them there are out there,” Derek pointed out. “I’m practicing reasonable caution.” 

“Okay, then maybe we should move this to a pool, or the ocean?” Becca suggested. 

“Maybe,” Derek nodded, surprising her. “Let’s see what I can do tonight, if I can't get past the whole suffocation problem, we’ll talk about a pool. I know it’s possible though, just knowing should be enough to get myself there, if I can just focus.” 

Derek was sure he could stay underwater and not feel like he was drowning because Stiles had inadvertently told him it was possible when he related the story of how he created the pond. If Stiles had known the can of worms he was opening when he told that story, Becca was sure he would have kept it to himself. 

“Here looks good, this is about where we were last time, right?” Derek asked. 

“No, this is a completely different tributary, but they all look the same, right?” Becca was surprised how unaware he could be at times. In his defense she did most of the navigating.

“Sass, cousin, sass,” Derek grinned, shaking his head as he walked backward out of the wheel house. 

Becca was familiar with the look on his face, the challenging expression that asked if her driving skills could match his speed. She threw the throttle, killing the gas and put the shifter in neutral, then reverse. The boat lurched and spun as Derek held on, then turned to run and dive off the side as the boat slowly slid into place. He vanished into the water as the boat settled, rocking against the waves of it's own drift. He was lucky she was fast and knew what she was doing, or the boat would be half a mile down river before she finally drifted to a stop. 

There was no sign of him when she looked over the side, but his stop watch was dangling from one of the net lines already timing his speed. Derek probably thought he was Batman, but really he was just a pain in the ass. It was showy and cute to use his supernatural reflexes, but the time wouldn’t be exact, and she wouldn’t be able to record it in the data. It would still give him an idea of what he could do though, and that’s all he ultimately cared about. Whatever Derek accomplished, he accomplished with skill, not by accident. He could repeat it if he needed to. 

The other obvious downside of Derek’s shenanigans was how he glossed over absolute necessities, like dropping anchor. Becca couldn’t forget things like that even when she tried. Her life was like a series of hypervigilant moments sometimes. As she hefted the heavy anchor chain off the floor of the deck, inching it along in short bursts of strength, she imagined being strong enough to move it like Derek did. If she knew how to absorb power from the earth like Stiles, she might be able to, but until then she was doomed to struggle like a weak human everywhere except her dreams. 

As Becca hefted the anchor chain one last time before locking it into place, she remembered her old dream journal and how excited she used to be about it. Back then she thought dreams meant something magical because Gran told her they could, until she started dreaming about the same thing every night. It wasn’t a bad dream, but it certainly wasn't the kind of dream she wanted to mean something profound. Especially because it was after she had come to a sane conclusion about her feelings for Derek. Remembering her misguided affection made her cringe with embarrassment every time. She was so glad she never told anyone because she couldn't even live it down in her own head. 

The dream always started out underneath slowly drifting water. It was peaceful and quiet. The darkness around her was broken up by soft light playing across the surface above her, like the moon peeking through the depths. She was alone until arms wrapped around her, demanding her attention. Derek floated in front of her, unable to speak, though he looked intense and scared. Then he kissed her and everything turned to light and hope. Fortunately she always woke up right then, grateful it didn't go further. After it stopped, Becca never found the motivation to write in her dream journal again, it was just too strange. 

Remembering where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, Becca jumped to release the anchor before she drifted too far away. She pulled back on the lever and slid the arm into the release position, standing far back from the tangled piles of heavy chain. Looking around carefully to make sure she was clear, Becca pulled back on the lever and released the anchor. The loud clanking, whirring noise sped up as it dropped down into the water. She spotted Derek’s bag sliding across the deck, the long nylon shoulder strap caught in the chain. She jumped and reached out to grab it, but she lurched, being pulled back abruptly by something dragging against her foot. 

Becca even didn’t get a chance to look down and see what stopped her before she was swept off her feet, her head slamming painfully against the deck of the boat as she slid across it. What was left of the rough grit flooring tore at her shirt and skin, but didn't slow her down. Adrenaline rushed through her as she realized she was heading toward the side of the boat. There was no time to come up with a plan, no time to figure out how to stop her momentum as the chain pulled her up. She grabbed onto the side of the boat, holding on with her thin, useless hands, but there was no way she stood a chance against the heavy anchor and the pull of the current. 

With nothing left to do but screamed for help, Becca did it louder and longer than she knew she could. Part of her hoped for a miracle, that Derek wasn’t too far away to hear her. That he would save her somehow before the anchor caught the bottom and the boat bounced back, tearing her leg to pieces. Just before she hit the murky water she stopped screaming and sucked in a deep breath, hoping against all hope maybe it would stop before she went underwater. The speed and shock of the water hindered her effort to kick off the chain. It didn't matter. How ever she was tangled, it was too tight to pull off. 

When she stopped, and the chain pulled tight she had to burn it. It was her only shot. It meant channeling pure fire, enough to turn solid metal chain into something molten enough to stretch and break. There was no chance in hell it was going to work, but she had to try. She reached out and grabbed the chain as it came to a stop, her lungs already burning and her eyes shut tight. She imagined every bit of fire she had inside her wrapped around her foot like armor, radiating heat like a furnace. It was working, her skin was hot, burning with power. She thought for a moment she heard the sound of boiling, then there was pain. 

Her ankle crushed and snapped under the tightening chain. Bones cracked and popped, her skin instantly cooled and she let go. Nothing hurt for a moment as she drifted in the dark water. She looked up and saw rippling light, like the moon, right above her. The boat was drifting back from the pull of the anchor, giving the chain some slack. Her hair suddenly covered her eyes in a dark cloud as hands grabbed her shoulders. Hope and the will to fight suddenly set her whole body on fire with pain as she struggled to right herself. She needed to tell Derek she was caught, but his hands had already moved down her legs. She pushed her hair out of her face as she searched for him, unable to see anything past her own hand. 

Suffocation began pushing away the pain as Becca tried desperately to stay calm and concentrate on his hand holding her calf. He was trying to figure out how to free her, hopefully without removing her foot, then he was gone. Becca panicked, reaching out for him, the burning in her lungs giving way to a soft blackness that threatened the edges of her mind. As she fought the urge to breathe she lost the ability to move her arms, but she refused to let go of that last moment, the last bit of consciousness that would keep her from drowning. It was the last thing she had, the only thing she could control. It was hers to keep. As long as she was still conscious, Becca would never give in to her primitive mind. 

A stale sort of darkness had lulled her body into a false sense of calm when hands covered her cheeks, and fingers searched her face and neck. She opened her eyes to find Derek hovering over her. He lowered his face to hers and she let go of her final breath, desperate for the rescue he promised. Her lungs screamed in relief as he breathed air into her aching chest. She was alive again and the blackness was gone. Derek let her go and his face vanished again, his hands assuring her he was still there. 

A moment later the chain was broken and Derek untangled her foot. The pain was incredible. So bad Becca knew then, if he hadn’t given her air she wouldn't have been able to hold on through it. She would have screamed or struggled and taken in water. As he dragged her to the surface she pushed against the water with her arms, struggling against the anticipation of relief as they broke the surface. 

The warm night air hit her face and she dragged in a ragged breath, her lungs bursting and flooding with the small bit of water that clung to her mouth and face. She coughed painfully, holding on to Derek’s arms as he held her head above water. Her body struggled between coughing and taking in huge lungfuls of air as panic finally burst inside her. Becca wanted to be calm and slow down enough to get back on the boat, but the pain all over her body, and the close brush with death, was just too much. 

Aching sobs tore through her as she clung to Derek. The tears forced her to slow down enough that her lungs began to relax. She let her head fall back against his shoulder and she gave up. She was safe. She was going to live and that’s all she cared about.

“You’re okay,” Derek said, his voice quiet and close to her ear. “You’re going to be okay,” he repeated. He took in a few long, calming breaths trying to get her to follow along. She did because she wanted him to tell her what to do. Becca didn't know, and she didn't want to have to figure it out. “We’re going to make our way back to the boat, all you have to do is let me take you, okay?” he asked. 

Becca nodded, unable to swim and unwilling to try anyways. Derek swam on his back, one arm around Becca’s chest as they cut through the water toward the boat. 

“You have to hold on by yourself so I can open the gate,” Derek said as they came up to the end of the boat. 

“No.” Becca pulled herself upright and trying to turn around. She couldn’t let him go. She couldn’t drift alone out in the water, there had to be a better way. 

“Quiet, don't argue, turn around,” Derek commanded, pointing her toward the end of the deck. 

Reaching out, she let her fingers wrap around a long post because he told her to. It felt sturdy, but the boat wasn’t the part she had a problem trusting. She had failed herself once already, she didn't trust herself to hold on. Derek let her go and she turned around to grab onto him again. He struggled with her, telling her to stop, then he put her hands on the post. His hands covered hers so she couldn’t let go. 

“Don’t let go until I tell you to. Promise me, or we’re staying in the water.” Derek waited for her to answer, but she didn’t want to promise something so absurd, she couldn’t be trusted and she was angry with him for making her do something she didn’t want to. Part of her understood the pain and panic was making her think irrational things, but the pain didn't care. “Promise, Rebecca,” he demanded. 

Becca only agreed because she wanted out of the water more than she wanted to be mad at him. She closed her eyes and made herself breathe, the water suddenly cold and dangerous where Derek’s warmth had been. Panic welled up in her chest as she forced herself to hold on and not scream profanities at him. She opened her eyes as his hands reached under her arms and dragged her over the end of the boat, through the open gate, and onto the rough floor of the deck. 

The mangled thing that used to be her foot and ankle stared back at her when she looked down. Her skin was blistered and scarred in long red gashes from the molten chain. It was probably the only reason she still had a foot attached to her body at all. It didn’t hurt like it probably should, but she was thankful. Out of the water and past the danger of drowning, Becca had room to think. She had to get help before it got worse or she bled out. The pink puddle under her foot was small, but growing by the second. 

“No hospital,” Becca said, surprised she was shivering. She wasn't cold. “Take me to Gran.”

“Becca I--”

“Gran and Trudy!” Becca demanded. “The hospital is almost an hour away,” she reminded him. 

If Gran and Trudy were only fifteen minutes away, she had a better chance of not bleeding to death. If Trudy couldn't put her back together with Gran’s help, she would at least survive the trip to the hospital. 

Understanding her logic enough to not argue anymore, Derek went below deck and started the engine. He came back with a wool blanket and the seat cushions from the wheelhouse. He dragged her up against the doorway to the wheelhouse, and raised her leg up high, propping it up on the cushions. He made her a little comfortable, but he wasn’t nearly as good at operating the boat as she was. It was going to be a hard ride back to the dock either way. 

It only took her a couple of minutes to coach him out of the tributary until he saw the lights of the marina. Sweat was pooling under her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. Weak and sick, Becca looked over her arms. They were dotted with beads of sweat, not water, and her hands were shaking. She listed off the signs and symptoms of shock, but she felt more like she had the flu, like her skin was crawling and agitated from fever. It was all still consistent with shock, even though her mind was sharp still, she was tired. 

“Derek,” Becca called out, her head swimming as she reached for the edge of the wheelhouse doorway. 

His hand caught her wrist and guided it toward the frame so she could hold herself steady. “You’re burning up.” The concern in Derek’s voice made her queasy. 

The boat lurched and slammed against the dock as Derek killed the engine. The impact reverberated through her skull and shot down to her stomach. She scrambled to lean over the rough deck as her stomach lurched uncomfortably. Bracing herself against the Doorframe, Becca wanted to scream in pain as her stomach emptied itself, but her lungs burned for air again as she struggled against the stomach contractions. Derek’s hands on her shoulders calmed the terror growing in her chest as she struggled to breathe again. 

“You’re okay, just calm down.” Derek’s voice brought her back for a moment. 

As soon as she looked up and took a deep breath the burning pain twisted up her leg again. The short reprieve of shock was over. Her nerves were on fire as her body reminded her it was mangled and broken. The noises she made weren’t brave or admirable, but she would have traded in every moment of bravery she would ever have in her lifetime just to get the overwhelming pain to stop for a few minutes. Every once in a while it would roll back just enough to let Becca know Derek was still there with her, but those moments were almost worse because she was aware enough to know agony was coming right back again as soon as Derek needed to use his free hand to do something. 

Finally a little relief came when a strange, reddish blackness drifted over her mind like a fever dream. Becca was vaguely aware of being on solid land because she knew what the change from boat to land felt like. Then the rumble and shake of the truck broke through, but none of it mattered anymore. Her life as she knew it was over. It was likely she would never be able to walk again, and she might have to live with the pain she had forever. It would twist her mind and soul, turning her into some sort of monster until no one wanted her. No one would ever claim her, love her, or help her ever again. 

Every time she opened her eyes someone was leaving her. Becca didn't understand why she wasn't awake when they showed up, only when they left. Derek left her, then Trudy left. Scott came and stayed a while, his arms and face distorted and ugly with nightmarish black veins. Derek crumpled to the ground next to her when she woke one time and she tried to help him, but Isaac and Kira were there. She wanted Bobby, but finally it was Gran that stayed. She was in Gran’s bed, but it was soft, too soft for an old woman. Too hard to get out of. 

“Becca, stay. I will not tell you again, child,” Gran warned her, pushing her down with a weak hand that held far less power than her words. Still, it was enough. 

“When she came out of the water her ankle was crushed,” Derek said. 

“I can do a lot, but not that much. Scott either. It doesn’t look crushed now. It’s badly broken and burned though.” Trudy sounded skeptical, but Becca remembered. Of course it was crushed. Allthey had to dowas look at it. 

“It was crushed, right under her ankle. I could see the bone,” Derek hissed. 

“Maybe it was the angle, or maybe you just thought it looked worse in the moment,” Trudy argued. 

“It’s healing on it’s own,” Derek said. 

“Sometimes it--sometimes we can do that,” Trudy said as Becca pulled herself up on her elbows, ignoring Gran to look at Trudy and her ankle. 

“I have a fever,” Becca said outloud to herself mostly. She took a good look at her foot, which was swollen and marked with blisters, but shaped right and almost whole again. “Oh god,” she said before all the air was sucked out of her chest by the weight of the truth. 

There was no saving her now, no matter how tightly she clung to Gran, no matter how many kind words came from Gran’s mouth, she couldn’t take it back. Trudy’s eyes glazed over with tears, the dark brown pools of kindness and love she had always clung to, eyes like a mother stared back at Becca full of pity and terror. Unintelligible words came drifting from Trudy’s mouth, words meant to comfort Becca, tell her everything would be okay, but they were lies. They were all liars. Only Derek didn't lie. 

It took her too long to realize the deafening scream that rattled her eardrums and made her head hurt was coming from her own chest. Becca fought against Gran, trying to get up and get away. Becca had to save them. She had to go away somewhere, anywhere where they couldn’t watch her change into the monster she could feel waiting, snarling like a demon in the back of her mind. It wanted her. It was coming, and when it finally got her, it would be terrible and more powerful than anything any of them had ever known, but no one was listening to her. 

“Stop!” Derek roared at her. The preternatural volume of his words shook the walls and the bed she was laying in. Becca stopped because the growling, snapping monster threatening her mind curled back, tightening in to protect itself, waiting to be told what to do. “Calm down,” Derek said in a more human voice, but the threat of what might happen if she didn't obey was plenty to slow it down. 

“Sleep, tell her to sleep Derek,” Trudy said. 

“Go to sleep,” Derek demanded. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.” His words sounded a little kind, but he wasn’t asking. Becca had to do what he told her to, so she did. 

Tiny bits of herself drifted in and out of her head questioning her reality, wondering if it was all a dream as she made herself relax against the pillows. Rebecca Monroe was not her own anymore. She was not only herself. She belonged to both a god, and an animal, from the moment she was born. For a while she was allowed to be herself, but that time was over. Now, in exchange for life, and untold power she never wanted, she had to share her existence forever. 

In the darkness Becca dreamed of a far away place, a desert and a jungle, somewhere familiar. It was a place she used to call home, before she was broken into pieces and set adrift in the world. She was born in the desert, and she lived in the jungle, but she wasn't a she, and she wasn’t always benevolent. What she used to be came from a place where human sacrifice built monuments to the gods. Humans called her down from the heavens and willed her into existence. Those in power hoped she would hear them, but she only heard the cries of the dying, the tortured and the broken. She did not pity them, but she would not stand idly by while they suffered. That was never her way. 

Long, thin legs and large paws padded on the ground silently as she stalked through a city, searching for the scent of death and the noise of battle. She gladly brought death to those who suffered, and courage to those who fought. That was where she really lived. In the place where slaves rose up and cut the heads off their masters, writing her name in blood on fallen walls. That was where she always belonged. She protected those who tempered themselves quietly in the fire of servitude, living the life of a jackal, with the heart of a lion.

The god she used to be and the child she still was could twist and change the shapeshifter spirit to serve the cause. It would wear the face of a jackal, and it would learn to obey. The three of them would cut a path of fear and destruction through anyone who stood in their way. Anyone who dared to try and stop her as she burned out the hearts of the corrupt and freed those who cried out for her help would die along with the false masters. Together they were fire, and death, and no one would stop them. 

“She needs to stay here, where I can take care of her. We already know she will only listen to me,” Derek argued, his voice loud and and angry. 

“If she’s changing, she’s mine. I don’t care of she’s a Hale. I haven’t forced you to fall in line because Stiles asked me not to, but Becca’s my family. I know how to take care of her.” The voice belonged to Scott, but the power and authority sounded foreign. It bristled in Becca’s mind like a threat. 

“She’s not part of your pack,” Derek challenged.

“She will be because I will die before I let anyone else have her.” Scott meant it. He would die for her. He wanted to serve her as much as he wanted to lead her, but Derek wanted to protect her. 

Neither of them understood they were working for the same thing. 

“I claimed Becca and Bobby as soon as they were born. She’s mine now that Gwen can't, and as long as she’s still a child, I make the hard choices for her.” Trudy spoke up like the fearless warrior she was. Likely stepping right between two giant, angry werewolves. “She goes with Derek and Laura," Trudy decided. 

They were all somewhere far away though. Becca could hear Gran breathing quietly nearby. She wanted to open her eyes, to speak and tell Gran she was okay, but her eyelids were too heavy to move. 

“Trudy said she stays with us for now. Even you have to respect the hierarchy of the family before the pack,” Derek pressed. 

“Trudy, you know this is wrong. You have to know she belongs here with us!” Scott shouted. 

“Back off Scott, she's not going anywhere,” Derek threatened. The deadly edge in his voice proving how far he’d been pushed. 

A loud crash and a bone rattling roar made her shoot up in bed, her heart hammering in her chest with fear. “Gran?” Becca reached out for her grandmother and took the hand waiting by the side of the bed. 

“Shh, that’s none of your concern,” Gran said, as if she could simply choose to ignore it. 

Trudy’s scream pierced through her mind like a spear. Power surged through her veins and lit her vision up like a spotlight. Everything was golden orange and sharp. Becca could smell the fear rolling off Gran in waves as she walked across the bed, listening for Trudy. As soon as Becca honed in on Trudy’s rapid heartbeat and her sobbing voice, she ran. She ignored the tearing and cracking sounds, and how the stairs seemed to fall to pieces under her hands. All she cared about was Trudy’s voice as she begged Isaac to stop Scott from killing Derek. 

The problem was Scott. He was why Trudy screamed. He was the instigator. Becca lunged for Scott, knocking him back and rolling across the floor until they stopped. She had the upper hand, she was on top of him, his throat gripped tight in her massive claws. Part of her wanted to laugh as the gurgling noises that came from Scott’s throat got louder and his feet stopped kicking. His claws dug into her arm, but Becca didn’t care. She would have her death, in seconds, it would be hers. 

Arms tore her away from Scott, forced her to let him go. She screamed and fought against them, struggling to finish off her prey. The noise that emanated from her throat and rattled her chest was too big and too frightening to be from her, even though she wanted it to be. 

“Becca, stop please,” someone begged her. It was Trudy, and she was scared. Becca had to help her but no one would let her go. Her claws connected with something and one arm came free. She swiped at the person holding her other side, scrambling to fall back and get away. It was enough to make her stop and take a breath.

“Trudy?” Becca asked, looking around and only seeing terrified faces. 

Trudy stepped forward out of the chaos. “Becca?", but she sobbed horrible, frightened tears as she spoke. “Becca please stop.”

Stunned by Trudy’s fear, Becca looked for Scott. He struggled against the door frame, trying to get up. Isaac was pulling himself up off the floor and Derek was still. Becca rushed to her feet and went to Derek, turning him over, his huge body moving easily in her small hands. His face and neck were slashed open, blood pumped freely out of his neck, dripping and pooling underneath him. She closed her hand over the wound and called out for Stiles, but he wasn’t there, he was still on the river with John. 

“I’m sorry,” Becca said to Derek. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, trying to hold Derek’s neck together as the blood slowed, then stopped. “He’s dead,” she said. A slow, cold numbness permeated her insides. 

“Becca?” Bobby called to her from the front door of the parish house. 

That was when Kira stepped forward, ready to kill Becca where she stood if she dared approached Bobby. Becca was the monster he was so afraid of becoming, and now she couldn’t hide it from him. He was there to witness to it all. The window crumbled and fell away easily as she leapt through it, running as fast and as far away from all of it as she could. Voices called to her. The pack, Scott and Kira, shouted her name trying to make her come back, but she didn’t belong there anymore. 

As hard as Becca ran she should have felt tired, but she only wished she could go faster. Her only obstacle was the rough ground and trees. Stumbling and falling didn't feel good, but it didn't matter. She got up and kept running. The voices were far behind her and whatever she was running toward was real. Becca wanted it because it was familiar, something she couldn’t name, but it called to her like a beacon. The more she paid attention the stronger the sensation became, pulsing like a heartbeat, but quietly blending in with the sounds of the night. The pull was strong, like safety and home and love. 

The beacon, the heartbeat got weaker. Becca slowed down and tried to pinpoint the direction or the source again. Then suddenly it was gone. It’s absence screamed at her, the loss of it was painful, like something had been ripped from her chest. Frantic, Becca stopped and turned in circles. She searched each direction for evidence it ever existed. A powerful heart echoed back to her, beating softly in the distance, but it didn't call out to her the same as before. The sound was followed by the scent of pine and moss, and something bitter and sweet, like orange peels. The footsteps that followed were heavy and confident. They were coming for her, unafraid of what they might find. 

Becca instantly recognized the man who stepped into small clearing across from her. “Peter,” she bristled, ready to run again. 

“Wait,” he said softly. The kindness in his voice caught her off guard. “Becca, please, you look hurt.”

“It’s not my blood,” she admitted. 

“I know,” Peter assured her. “Still, I don't think I can let you go in good conscience. Not without at least making sure you’re okay?” Peter‘s soft, deep voice resonated with power and compassion. It made her stand up straight and listen. “May I come closer?” he asked. 

Standing there in a nightgown that was covered in Derek’s blood, mostly from her own hands, forced a wave of guilt to crash over her as she looked down and remembered what she had done. Becca clutched the front of her nightgown and tried to take a deep breath, unsure of what to do to make the tightening sensation in her chest stop. Nothing had been right since she woke up in Gran’s bed. She couldn’t find calm anymore, every sensation was too much. Life was too loud and she felt everything too strongly. It had to be a nightmare, but Derek’s blood was too real for that. 

“Please don’t panic,” Peter asked softly. He held his hands out in front of him like he was offering her control of the situation. His dark blue eyes and heart shaped face were just like Bobby’s, but his voice was so much like Derek’s. “You can stop for just a moment, and let me help you?" 

“Are you the only one out here?” Becca asked, unsure and afraid he was the source of the thing that called to her. 

“I am, but you can feel that, and hear it better than I can. You don't have to believe me. You can check for yourself,” he assured her. Taking a slow step closer, he stumbled slightly, trying to not get caught in the thick weeds that grew all around them. 

“I don't know how,” Becca admitted. 

“I’ll tell you, if you want me to?” Peter offered. He stopped just out of reach, maybe trying to make her feel safe. Becca nodded, unsure what other choice she had. “Concentrate on my heartbeat, make it loud in your mind. It might help if you close your eyes,” he suggested. 

Unwilling to trust him if she couldn't see him, Becca shook her head and scowled, but honed in on his heartbeat anyways. Peter smiled even though he looked worried. He clasped his hands in front of his chest nervously, every bit as unsure as she was. It only took her a moment to tell it was his heartbeat she heard, and it was strong and solid. 

"Okay?" Becca said cautiously. 

“Good, now listen for something else, anything. The heartbeat of a frog or a deer,” Peter suggested. When he was sure she was listening he went still, waiting patiently. Becca nodded when she found the tiny, fluttering heartbeat of a tree frog nearby. “Now look for a big, heavier heartbeat, anywhere nearby," Peter instructed. 

Scanning the trees and muddy brush all around them carefully, Becca found a cacophony of smaller heartbeats and sounds that resonated like an orchestra, but none like Peter’s. They were alone. It wasn’t what she wanted the answer to be, but nothing so far had been what she wanted. If Peter had heard her somehow, if he was the heartbeat that called to her, it meant Becca was looking for him and he was looking for her. The universe threw them together, she was meant to go with him. 

“Did you hurt Derek?” Peter asked, his forehead pulled tight with concern. 

“Yes,” Becca admitted. Her voice was shamefully weak and small. 

"Are you--?" Peter started to say, but his eyes drifted over her blood covered nightgown and he stopped. He covered his mouth with his hand and ran it over his chin like he was at a loss for words, and unsure of how to fix it. The man standing in front of Becca wasn’t the man Derek had warned her against. This Peter was distraught over the idea of Derek being hurt. He looked worried and scared. “He’s probably okay, it takes a lot to kill a werewolf." Peter assured her with an unsteady voice, giving Becca his best impression of confidence. "Do you want to tell me what happened?” Peter asked. 

Just the thought of confessing made Becca’s throat catch. Tears burned her eyes as she shook her head. She didn't want to tell Peter, but words began spilling out of her mouth unchecked. “I almost killed Scott, then Isaac and Derek pulled me off, but they couldn’t hold me. I slashed his throat open and he was bleeding--" she stopped when her lungs ran out of air and she couldn't make words with her next breath. 

“Did you check his heartbeat?” Peter asked. 

“No,” Becca admitted. "I didn't know I--" 

“Then you don't know." Peter interrupted her gently, holding his hands up like he was trying to slow her down. "He could be alive. He could be fine, and if he’s not, it was an accident, right?” Peter was asking if she meant to do it and the trepidation in his voice hurt her. Not being able to trust herself was a pain deep in her chest, like an open wound that wouldn’t stop aching every time she thought of how unforgivable it all was. "You didn't mean it," Peter repeated, but he was saying it to strengthen his own resolve and convince himself 

“Will my eyes be blue?” Becca asked. If Derek was dead, then her eyes would be blue and she would know, Peter could tell her. 

“Darling girl," Peter said quietly. "I’m looking at them now, and they are pure, amber gold, and absolutely gorgeous.” Peter's deep voice was confident and reassuring. "Please, let me help you?" he asked one last time before he took a step toward her and she nodded.

Weakness threatened Becca’s knees as he approached her. There was no cautionary tale about Peter's character that could erase the unconditional love he promised at that moment. He wasn't afraid of her, or what she might do, even though she had just confessed what she had done so easily to werewolves just like him only minutes ago. He opened his arms and she promised herself she wouldn’t trust him completely unless he earned it. As soon as his arms closed around her, she stopped caring. Peter was warm, safe, and strong enough to sweep her up and carry her silently through the wilds toward Hale territory. 

Sticky, drying red blood stained his shirt as she balled her fist in it and held on like she was afraid maybe Peter wasn't real. Becca laid her head on his shoulder, no longer suspicious enough to watch where he was going. She kept her eyes on him instead. The Hale house was his, and that's where she had been heading all along. Part of her knew deep down she was going to Peter because he was the only other monster she knew. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but she almost killed Scott, and she did kill Derek. No matter how Peter tried to comfort her, Becca was certain she had watched the life drain out of him. It was her fault he was gone. Stiles would never forgive her. 

Because of the prophetic fever dreams she had in Gran's room, Becca understood what kind of monster she was, and why it was so easy for her to kill. Most of all she understood why she enjoyed it so much. She was possessed by something different than they all assumed. It was old, vengeful, merciless, and capable of trapping the shapeshifter spirit before it manifested. It changed the spirit to serve it, not Becca. It wasn't the same benevolent fire spirit Becca had come to know and understand. It was malicious, it wanted to control her and make her do terrible things in the name of what it called justice. It was something faceless and ageless that called itself fire and death and it had been waiting for her like a snake in the grass. 

It reminded her justice was relative, and history was written by the victors. There were always two sides to every story. Becca didn't know Peter's, no one had ever trusted her with it. Maybe it had been the same loss of control for Peter. Maybe someday Bobby and Stiles would talk about Becca in hushed tones, give people cautious looks as they said how bad and evil she was, just like Stiles and Derek talked about Peter. Considering the possibility ruined everything she had done to make herself calm. Peter hushed her reassuringly, told her she was going to be safe soon, but Becca wasn't worried about what was outside. Unsafe was in her heart. Peter should have been more worried about his own safety. 

The more comfortable Becca was in Peter's arms, the more she shivered and wanted to sleep. Her eyelids were heavy and she was still feverish because the change still wasn’t finished yet. Unable to imagine what she would eventually become, Becca was thankful she was finally with someone who wasn’t afraid if it. Peter didn't look at her like his heart was being torn from his chest the further she drifted from herself. Instead he saw her glowing eyes, the blood and death still clinging to her, and smiled. He told her with kind, loving eyes that she was gorgeous. 

Blackness drifted over her and she almost slept. It was the same fitful half-sleep from before, when everyone kept leaving her, but Peter didn't leave. The sounds of the forest gave way to the coppery scent of fresh blood, wounded, erratic heartbeats, and the sensation of being on the water. The scent of jasmine and bougainvillea followed them into a dusty, old house. Cold water washed her hands and face, and the sharp scent of blood disappeared. Deep hushed voices lulled her to sleep somewhere soft and quiet. Becca’s mind went still, the constant vigilance and fear that kept her on the edge of sleep vanished and everything went dark.


	6. Not So Thick Skinned

“Becca,” a voice said softly as a hand touched hers. 

Fingers touched her palm and wrist, sliding over her skin and tapping gently. When the voice repeated her name, Becca opened one eye because they other was trapped shut. The burning sandpaper feeling in her eye turned into a headache, sharp behind her ears. Light streamed in from a high window catching the heavy dust in the air. It stirred and swirled, turning everything around her bright and obscuring everything in front of her. The hand went away for a moment and a curtain closed. She turned her head just enough to free her other eye, but it was hard to move. 

The dim light made her eyes work better. She was on a concrete floor, somewhere she didn’t recognize. Her arms were heavy, but her legs and chest felt paralyzed like it was hard to breathe deep and she couldn’t get up. Peter’s face came into focus as he laid on the floor in front of her, mirroring her uncomfortable position just to be face to face with her. His arm twisted and his hand reached out for her through the bars that surrounded her. 

“Why am I in a cage?” she asked. Her voice was rough and foreign. 

“You hurt Laura,” Peter held her hand, twisting their fingers together. 

“I don't remember hurting Laura,” Becca shook her head. It was supposed to be better, but it was the nightmare again, but this time it had taken her over completely. 

“We had to give you wolfsbane, it can make you forget,” Peter said urgently. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

“Finding you, coming here. What happened to Laura?” Becca asked, wanting to try to get up, but Peter held her hand. He stopped her, pulling her arm toward him. 

“It will hurt if you try to move, please, just rest,” he asked. “I can tell you everything but we need to talk first, Becca.”

“No,” Becca said. Ashamed of the weak, terrified sound of her voice. Tears flooded her eyes, burning her cheeks. He had changed his mind. She hurt Laura, she was too much trouble, too much terrible, ugly monster for even someone like Peter to want. 

“Becca, please calm down and listen to me,” Peter said firmly. His hand tightened around hers, demanding her attention. 

“Don’t make me leave.” As the terror in her words settled on Peter’s face Becca hated herself. She wanted to die before needing anyone else the way she was begging him to not throw her away, but too much of her didn’t want to die, and she didn't know how to make anything better. 

"Becca, no,” Peter hissed. “Never, you’re never leaving here unless you want to. Do you understand me?” he demanded. The odd mix of anger and promise in his words confused her. “Listen very carefully,” Peter asked more gently. Becca fixed her eyes on his, hopeful his next words wouldn't be devastating. “Laura wanted to wake you up and ask you questions. I said no, it was my fault. I didn't want you to hurt, but she said you were smart, you know more about this than any of us, and--”

“I do,” Becca answered hopefully, not wanting Peter to believe he still had to convince her. 

“We don’t know what to do. We can't handle you, not even the both of us together,” Peter said quietly. “I don't know why you’re so strong, but we gave you wolfsbane to make you sleep. We can't keep giving it to you forever though, it will kill you.” 

“This is wolfbane? I’m poisoned?” Becca asked, suddenly terrified of what they had done to her. 

“We had to Becca. We couldn’t stop you.” Peter’s voice was strong, gentle, apologetic. He was sorry for what he had done, but the fact he had to do it at all stripped Becca of every shred of hope she clung to. "Without the wolfsbane I think you could just tear your way right through these bars and be done with us," Peter pressed. 

“No,” Becca said, closing her eyes against what couldn't possibly be her reality. She remembered the scent of blood, and the erratic heartbeats. She thought it was when he was carrying her, but she could be wrong. Becca was sure someone had been hurt, and it wasn’t Derek’s blood she smelled. "Wolfsbane isn't--I can't hurt anyone else," Becca said as clearly as she could. 

The sadness in Peter's eyes proved he understood her. “Becca, please talk to me,” Peter asked. His hand held hers tightly. He was on the ground, his face against the floor, so she could look him in the eye and speak to him directly. He was trying to make her understand something more important. He wanted to help her. “We don’t have to talk about this right now. I need you to be sharp, to know what’s going on so you can help me fix this for you, so talk to me about anything. Just until you feel better?” he asked. 

Becca nodded because she was afraid she would cry again if she tried to speak, and he wanted her to be okay so desperately. She didn't want to let Peter down. 

“Tell me about your last visit with Cora, tell me something funny she said,” Peter smiled, proving he knew Cora’s secret. That her sarcasm twisted into funny, dry humor as soon as she liked you. 

That was easy. One time Cora made her laugh so hard her cheeks hurt. “I think it was a couple months ago," Becca tried recalling. "not long after--” Becca was unsure if she should call it their first meeting, it obviously wasn't. 

“A few days after we met in the diner,?" Peter asked, making it easy for her. 

"Yeah," Becca nodded. Laura and Cora wanted to take Derek to Nola for the day, to go shopping. He didn't want to go alone." 

"I can't imagine he would," Peter laughed. "He thinks the height of fashion is cargo pants and sneakers." 

"He has a leather jacket now," Becca smiled a little. 

"Be still my heart. I think he might be one of us after all," Peter grinned. 

"Is he alive?" Becca asked, tears welling in her eyes again. 

"I sent Cora to check a very long time ago. If he was dead she would have come home right away. She's there taking care of him, I'm sure of it," Peter promised. 

"But you don't know for--?" 

"Shh, shh," Peter hushed her again and she remembered the last time. She was afraid they would think she was evil. But Peter didn't think she was evil. "My beautiful girl, please believe me," Peter all but begged her to forgive herself for what she had done to Derek. 

"Am I?" Becca asked, needing to hear him say it out loud. The desire came on suddenly, like she wouldn't be able to accept any more of his love and kind words if they didn't make perfect sense. Peter waited, confused by her too simple question. "Am I a Hale?" Becca asked because the words 'are you my father' were too difficult to imagine saying. 

“Of course I am," Peter said like he was surprised she would ask. "No one ever told you? Even after we met? How could you not see how much you look like Laura?" He asked too many questions all at once. 

"I did, Bobby did, but I--" Becca was so tired of being weak and crying. She wanted to be clear headed, calm and strong like she knew she could, but none of it made sense. His reactions weren't right, his words weren't right. Both versions of reality couldn't be true. Peter couldn't be the victim too. "Why did you stay away? Why doesn't she even know your name?" Becca demanded suddenly, surprised by the strength of her own voice. She tried to pull her hand away, but Peter held her. 

“Stop, think about it Becca. How could a person conceive two children with someone and never tell them their name?" Peter demanded right back. It didn't make sense. “I used to visit when you were little?” he said hopefully, but Becca didn’t remember him. “She loves me,” Peter said, and that was real. That was the truth. Her mother loved Peter more than anything in the world, and he knew it. “I love her. We both wanted you, and we wanted to be together, I--” He stopped and squeezed her hand tight, like he thought better of what he wanted to say. 

“What? Please tell me. No one tells me anything,” Becca demanded, angry at her family for not telling her first so she could be sure what Peter said was true. 

“They all know. Everyone knows. I came for you years ago when they made the spell around that place stronger and I couldn’t visit at night anymore, and they came after me. I couldn’t--there were too many and you and Bobby were so young,” Peter tried to explain, but he was starting to get upset too. 

“When Scott changed?” Becca asked. 

“I didn’t mean to change him,” Peter rushed to defend himself. “I tried to help him after, but they twisted him up, filled him with some kind of power that took mine and made him stronger than me.” 

“That was an accident. Scott didn’t know, he was trying to figure it out and I helped him, I--”

“You helped him?” Peter asked. “You were too young?” Peter shook his head, confused. 

“I was smart,” Becca said, but the logic didn't look good when she said it outloud anymore. 

“Why would he ask you for help when your grandmother, Trudy, and Stiles know so much more?” Peter asked. “Did he suspect them of--”

“No, no” Becca rejected the idea before Peter could say it out loud. 

“I’m sorry Becca,” Peter said quietly. He let her hand go and turned on his back, rubbing his eyes like it was painful to think. “I love all of you more than anything. I should have tried harder, I should have gotten you out before they--”

“No, they didn't do anything,” Becca argued. Anger and frustration welled up in her chest, threatening to make her cry again, but she refused. “You’re lying. You’re trying to make me think they’re bad.” Becca struggled to get up, but she couldn’t. She was still too weak. 

“I’m not, I swear.” Peter rubbed his face again and closed his eyes like he was thinking. “I always kept my distance. I thought you would be safer, because of what you are, I assumed you would be safer with them. I was wrong and I hate myself for not trying harder. I should have asked Laura to bring you here at least, tried harder somehow. Told you more, but I didn't think--”

“Prove it,” Becca hissed. “Stop talking, or prove it.” 

“Prove what?” Peter asked, rolling back toward her with a bewildered look on his face. 

“Any of it,” Becca challenged, certain she would be able to see the holes in his story. 

“I don't know how to do that. I can barely prove to myself that I followed my conscience,” Peter sighed and fell back on the floor. “I don't think I did. I think I was fooling myself because the idea of warring with a tribe of witches for my own children just seems so absurd.” 

The painful self loathing that poured out of Peter didn't prove anything, but it stopped Becca from accusing him again. 

“I can tell you everything. That’s all I can do,” Peter stated, as if that was the extent of his power. “Should I do that?” he asked. 

“I don't know,” Becca said bitterly, hating for a moment how weak and unsure he sounded. 

“Do you know about the werewolves and the lunar eclipse?” Peter asked. Becca was stunned by the first words of his explanation. Derek had mentioned Stiles had a theory about the lunar eclipse, but brushed it off. Becca nodded, not wanting to give anything away. She wanted a real answer. “Werewolves are like humans on the lunar eclipse, just for a while. I used to visit more back then even though they were watching her. Your mother leaves a trail for me to follow through the backyard,” Peter smiled at the memory. 

“Your room is the one at the top of the stairs, to the left, your brothers is to the right. Last year the sliding door to your back yard was broken. I fixed it when I came to visit.” Peter offered up the facts like maybe they were proof. “You probably didn't notice.” 

“I did,” Becca rushed to assure him but she wasn't sure why. “I remember, but I thought Jason fixed it,” she admitted. “I thought she was making it up. I didn’t think you came.”

“I thought you had some idea because my favorite kind of beer was always in the refrigerator, but that was probably wishful thinking on my part.” Peter shook his head and glanced over at her. “I know you make the shopping lists, but your mother probably asks for the beer?” 

“She does. I always gave it to Stiles because I never thought--” Becca didn’t know what to say. She thought her mother made all of it up. They had all betrayed Gwen unknowingly. 

“I have a case of it upstairs,” Peter laughed softly, like it was a joke, but he didn't understand. He turned back to her abruptly and went to reach for her, but stopped himself. “I was only able to visit a couple times a year because were afraid of being caught. I stopped visiting you when you were awake because we were afraid you might accidentally tell someone, and they would stop me,” Peter explained. 

“I thought she was making it up,” Becca said again. She never thought for a moment that he actually came to visit her mother, like she said he did. Even when she suspected Peter was her father, she still believed her mother was making her whole fixation up. “Did you do it to her? Did you make her like she is?” Becca asked, not knowing if she would believe anything he said, but she wanted to hear him try to make any sense of it. 

“No, I can't do anything like that,” Peter said like he was horrified she would ask. “No werewolf can, but--” Peter closed his eyes like he said too much again. 

“What? Do you know what happened?” Becca demanded. 

“Becca, you know what happened,” Peter said softly. His forehead wrinkled and he reached out for her again. She was so confused by his words she let him take her hand. “You would have learned those lessons when you first started learning from your grandmother. Gwen told me all about her education.” 

“My powers? But I didn’t--” Becca stopped as she realized she wasn't the only person connected to fire. Trudy was too. One of the first things they learned was how devastating their powers could be if they ever used them on another person. What it could do to their mind. Burning out random parts like an electrical transformer bursting on a grid. “Trudy would never hurt my mother.” Becca didn't believe him. She wanted her hand back but his grip was tight, then suddenly she was free. 

Feeling somehow triumphant even thought she was still behind bars, Becca righted herself, ignoring how lightheaded and rough she was around the edges. 

“You could probably reach through the bars and kill me now,” Peter said quietly. He rubbed the hand she had been holding. Long purple bruises covered all his fingers. She lifted her hand and saw nothing. “I don't care about what you do to me as much as I care about keeping you safe.” 

“The wolfsbane is almost gone,” Becca said. She flexed her hand wondering how she could have burned through it so fast. 

“It’s the fire element and the fire spirit of the shapeshifter. Double fire,” he explained. “You burn so hot when you’re upset even wolfsbane can’t keep you down for long,” Peter admitted. 

“But poison, I--”

“The residue from the wolfsbane is like a spiritual scar. It can build up inside the fire spirit. Weaken both of them and kill them. But if they die, so do you,” Peter cautioned. 

"Trudy didn't hurt my mother," Becca stated again as Peter sat up on his side of the bars. 

"Sometimes Trudy does things without thinking. What she does usually turns out for the best but I couldn't--" Peter stopped and drew in a slow quiet breath. He let it out and looked back up at her with renewed resolve. "That was years ago. What's done is done. You asked if I did it, I couldn't have. Not against someone as powerful as your mother," Peter stated firmly, not leaving any room for discussion. 

What Peter said was true. No one else could have hurt Gwen that way. Gran or Stiles could have drown her, or wasted her away. Nothing else attacked that way. Not even a lightning strike. Once Becca had wondered if it was her fault, if she somehow hurt her mother before she knew what she was, but Gran told her it was impossible. She had tucked away her suspicions in the same place she hid everything her family did that didn’t makes sense. Inside her unquestioning loyalty to them. They gave her everything, but they also kept her busy. Gave her too much responsibility Derek said. 

“Don’t,” Peter whispered. He shook his head and wrapped his hand around the bar in front of him. “I’m angry with them, but we can't care about those things anymore Becca. You’re more powerful than all of us. You don't have to worry about anything, anyone has ever done to you because no one can ever control you again.” Peter’s firm words were meant to stop her from questioning, but that’s all she had left. There was no solid ground. “You’re awake, it’s inevitable the shapeshifter will come back, and we need to have some kind of a plan besides dosing you with wolfsbane again.” Peter sounded tired, defeated and unsure what to do next. 

“What’s the point then?” Becca asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Kill me,” Becca said. Her heart raced wild and scared in her chest, but she was awake and clear headed. She understood what she was and what her choices were. “I’m going to hurt someone and kill again, soon. I don't want to, and no one can control me. I’d rather die.” Becca’s resolve melted for a moment, but she kept her eyes shut tight and she kept her mouth shut. After a few seconds the feeling wasn't so bad. She could keep calm until it was time to go. She was sure of it. 

“I can’t,” Peter admitted. “I thought about it but I can't kill you and I can't let you go to die.” Peter looked up at her, his expression placid and blank, but his eyes were sad. “It’s not hopeless. Laura talked to you and you said you listened to Derek. I don't think you would now, but the reason I think you did is because he’s like you.” 

“Both?” Becca asked. “He’s not an alpha, but he’s both shifter and elemental?” 

“Yes. Laura’s not willing to try again, but Scott might be,” Peter offered. “It’s the same thing Stiles and Derek did on accident. I have a book that you can probably read,” Peter said as he reached over to a low end table near him and grabbed an old, tattered looking book. “I want to give this to you, but you’ve destroyed half of Cora’s clothes already,” Peter said hesitantly. 

“You really should embrace technology,” Becca grinned a little then scooted closer to the bars. Peter smiled, probably having no idea what she meant and opened the book for her to read on the other side. “This is greek?” she asked. 

“Can you read it? Derek can,” Peter offered. 

“He taught me enough, but--” Becca pushed back from the bars, sitting on what was a tattered, but clean, mattress. “The ritual they accidentally cast was to create a familial connection where there wasn’t one before. Scott and I don't need that,” Becca said. “Why does this matter? Explain it to me?” 

“You can't be controlled, but you have to listen to someone, anyone, while you learn to control yourself,” Peter explained. “You attacked Laura and Cora as soon as you were totally awake, like now, and you stopped listening. You just attacked because you--”

“I know what I did,” Becca interrupted him, not wanting a second hand account of how violent she could be. “The thing in my head calls itself fire and death.”

“You can control it,” Peter pressed. “Your mother did. She was so powerful, and she controlled it just fine. It took time thought.” 

“You said I wouldn’t listen, but I’m listening to you,” Becca pointed out. 

“I seem to be the only one you’re listening to, which is dangerous. I’m weak, but even when I was at my best I would have never stood a chance against you,” Peter admitted. “I’m risking a lot just being here and talking to you. If you get angry with me....” Peter’s eyes went wide and frightened, but he blinked it back, shaking his head a little while he turned the book back to himself. “You and Scott wouldn’t need any of this?” Peter asked. 

“Maybe some instructions on what to do, but not the part about opening a channel,” Becca said. “The elemental spirit chooses for itself. It doesn't matter how much I want it--”

“There’s instructions right here about shifting elemental energies.” Peter held the book up and pointed it out. “It doesn't matter though. Scott is good and decent. The spirit element would choose him to help you. I’m sure of it.”

“I can’t go back,” Becca admitted. 

“Because of what happened?” Peter asked. “They’ll forgive you Becca, they love you. They want you back.” 

“Then how come they aren't here?” Becca asked. “Have they come for me? We’re not a continent away, we’re a twenty minute run for Scott or Kira. They could have tracked me. Anyone probably could have followed the stench of Derek’s blood,”

Peter lowered his eyes and kept them fixed on the book for a long moment while she made an attempt to keep herself calm. “We have to try Becca. If you have other ideas, please tell me. I’ll do anything, go anywhere. We can fly down to the caribbean islands and find one to hide away on. Anything you want, I’ll do it,” Peter promised. His hand was wrapped around the bar, his knuckles white as he pleaded for something, anything that looked like an answer. 

“All you want is someone who can stop me from attacking people?” Becca asked. 

"Only for a little while. You will learn to control yourself. I know you will,” Peter said again. His faith was unwavering. His words worked like a balm on her worst wounds. She always had herself, and Peter was promising she could have it back again. “Becca, just give Scott a chance at least. If he says no we can look for someone else.” 

“Why? You can do it.” Becca was sure he could, and he might be better for it himself, instead of turning Scott into a monster like she was, Peter might have enough empty space and spiritual scars left over to keep himself whole, but still be the same as her. “If you mean it, if you really want to do the right thing, it will probably be easy. That’s how all of this stuff works.” Calm, clear thoughts finally descended upon her. She was sure of what she said. It was like the golden rule in everything supernatural. 

Power comes at a price and balance must be maintained. Willpower is everything. 

“I can’t Becca. I can't risk it. If something goes wrong, you--” Peter dropped the book on the floor and ran a hand over his face. “I’m not saying no because I don't want to risk it like that. I mean I know I can talk to you now. If something went wrong and you didn’t have anyone, what would you do?” Peter asked. 

“It wouldn’t matter,” Becca didn't want to tell him she would figure out a way to die. It hurt him unnecessarily. “I’m not turning Scott into a monster like me. I won’t.” 

Peter’s eyes fell and he picked the book up again. He smoothed out the bent page and closed it carefully and nodded. “I think I understand,” he said quietly. “I need some time to think. Will you read this and try to stay calm? I don't want to risk the wolfsbane again if we don't have to.” Peter got up and pushed the book through the bars. She reached out and took it, almost sorry she had hurt him so much, but the truth hadn't been kind to either of them. No matter how kind he was, Scott still existed. Peter was already a monster. 


	7. Not As Simple As It Seems

“When, Stiles?” Gran asked quietly. “You were eight. Trudy was thirteen. Your mother was ten. Becca has had so many more years to grow and learn. When would it have been a better time?” 

It didn’t matter that she was right. Stiles didn't like it. The fact that he was sitting in the chair next to her, watching the Hales sleep in the thin recovery beds in the long forgotten sick room meant he agreed with her. If he didn’t he would have gotten up and walked out, ran to Peter Hale’s house and flooded the entire thing in a tsunami the size of Mississippi. Instead, he sat quietly and watched Derek’s chest rise and fall, hoping Becca would be okay until they could go get her together.

“This is unfair,” Stiles whispered. 

“It always is. It will never be fair and it will never feel good, but that’s not the purpose of you, or Becca,” Gran reminded him. “I failed. I stayed here while the race riots happened and my people were tortured. Other people did my work for me while I had children and jarred pickles.”

“Gran, you’ve done so much,” Stiles argued, unwilling to accept she had really made a mistake. “You raised a whole generation of us. That has to be what you were meant for.” 

“I pray everyday you’re right and you’re all not just backlash, suffering needlessly for my failures,” Gran confessed. 

“If we are, we’ll do better,” Stiles promised. 

“Stiles?” Derek asked. His eyes were swollen and his skin was pale, sickly white. He looked like he had just woken up after a week of hard partying. “Where’s Becca?” he asked. 

“Peter’s house,” Cora answered. A rush of nervousness pitched Stiles forward in his seat. She was the least injured. Cora had been awake, listening in on their conversation. She sat up and looked at him, her eyes narrow like she knew they intended to leave Becca to her own devices, and she didn’t like it. “She’s at Peter’s house Derek, and we need to go get her,” Cora demanded resolutely. 

Gran sighed and closed her eyes. “Slow down,” she held up a hand. “None of you know what's really going on, but I will assure you Peter can’t kill, or even hurt Becca.” 

“What the hell is going on Stiles?” Derek demanded, sitting up in bed. His voice woke up Laura, who looked even worse than Derek. “Tell me what’s going on, right now!” Derek demanded. 

“Calm down, Gran is right,” Stiles agreed. “You know Peter can’t hurt you or Scott, and look at what Becca did to the two of you?” 

“Peter’s power has never been brute strength,” Derek hissed. “He gets in your head, twists things around and makes you do things.” Derek threw off the blankets and grabbed his pants on the bedside table. 

“Derek, what are you going to do?” Gran asked. 

“I’m going to go save her!” Derek said bitterly. Laura stumbled trying to mimic Derek in getting ready, but Cora moved more cautiously, keeping one eye on Stiles. 

“And say you show up and Becca is like she was downstairs. What then?” Gran asked. 

“We’ll figure something out,” Derek grumbled as he searched for his shoes. 

“Boy, you threw yourself on the grenade once and it almost killed you. Are you so dense you’re really about to go do it again?” Gran snapped. Derek stopped and looked up at her, surprised by her harsh tone. “Becca is lost because I failed her. Stiles failed her. You failed her. Now she has to see if she can fix her problems on her own finally. Without us meddling in every part of her life, with no plan, just hoping for the best.” 

“What if he get’s control of her? Tries to turn her on us?” Derek demanded. 

“That can’t happen to us. If something does get inside our head or ruin our sense of self, the elemental energy abandons us, like Gwen,” Stiles said calmly. 

“All she’ll be then is a werewolf, and not nearly as powerful?” Laura asked. “If Peter doesn’t know that, he might try.” 

“Peter can convince her. We can’t let her be around him at all,” Derek said urgently. 

“We can’t tell her what to do with Peter, Derek. He’s her father,” Stiles added, hoping Derek was willing to listen. He hated advocating for Gran's plan. He hated the plan, but she was right. Derek turned to him, shocked, like he expected Stiles to be on his side in the end. “What if someone came along and said they were going to save you from Talia?” Stiles asked. 

“I didn't need saving from my mother,” Derek was defensive and angry at the simple insinuation. 

“Yes you did,” Cora said quietly. She looked at the floor and picked up her shoes. “She was terrible to both of you,” Cora said a little louder. She looked up at Laura like she was sorry for saying so out loud, but Laura wasn't accusing, she looked ashamed of herself. “I hated watching you practice, I hated how she would talk to you both, and how she pretended it was all part of some bigger plan. You were kids, just like me. There was no reason you had to learn it all so fast.” 

“If we hadn’t--” Derek started to say. 

“If you were allowed to date and be a normal kid do you really think you would have gone along with her to begin with?” Laura asked. Derek stiffened and stood up like he was about to walk away. “Sit down,” Laura demanded. Stiles was shocked when Derek complied. Derek’s back was stretched out wide as he rested on his knees. Stiles couldn't see him, but he could tell Derek was scared by how he was breathing. “We’ve been letting Peter off the hook because he’s fun. He’s not as hard to be around as mom was. We all know he’s just as fucked in the head, but he’s not militant like Grandpa and Mom.” Laura finished her piece by falling back in bed and covering her face with her hands. 

“We can't leave her there,” Cora said. 

“We can't just swoop in and take her away either,” Stiles reminded them. “Either she walks out of that house a lot lighter, with worlds more self control, or she burns it down with both of them in it.” 

Derek turned back to him, his neck still puffy and wrinkled where the scar tissue had formed over Becca’s claw marks. “You love her, don't you?” Derek asked like it was his last ditch effort to sway Stiles, and it almost worked. 

“Yes. I love Becca more than I ever imagined I could.” Stiles promised, wishing he wasn’t the voice of reason. “I love being able to channel also, but I don’t for one second think I am more powerful than a hurricane. The second I think I can control something like that, I’m dead.” 

“She won't kill us,” Derek argued, still angry. 

“Yes she will.” Stiles took a deep breath and looked over at Gran, then Laura, hoping she was willing to control Derek. “She will kill you. She almost did, and she will try again if we pretend for one second we can make her do anything she doesn't want to right now.” He got up and followed Gran out the door. He offered his hand to Gran and helped her down the stairs after deciding Derek wasn't his problem anymore, at least not for a while. 

Downstairs Gran went to the kitchen and started baking something. Stiles did as she asked, moving and measuring. She talked to him sometimes, but he was engrossed in his own head, thinking about the trials of people in the past. How he struggled to let go of his deep desire to follow his mother. He was so young, but he still understood what death was. He understood enough to want it, just so he could be with her again. He lived in her skin. He found control in her tattoos, her job, her life, and that was good enough. 

Trudy struggled with feeling invisible. She was the youngest of her generation, and she didn't feel like she belonged anywhere. It took her a month of wandering around the countryside, half starved and scared to death before she came back to them after she manifested. When she did she got an earful about all the efforts taken to find her and that was that. Her great weight was lifted and she was able to use her power. 

A ghost was Becca’s great weight. A father she never knew and a family that didn't know how to deal with destroyed her ability to focus. The family was always part of the struggle though. They were the center of Trudy’s struggle, and their combined grief validated everything Stiles believed about things being better if he could just die and be with his mother. The family was always part of the solution in the end as well. Scott saved him, and the rest of them brought him back to life. They loved Trudy and never stopped loving everything she did for them. They gave them purpose. 

“We’re going to Peter’s house, aren't we?” Stiles asked. 

“Of course we are,” Gran answered as she cleaned off the edge of a pie tin with her apron before putting it on the oven. “We have to go.” 

“We’re just not going to go in guns blazing,” Stiles said out loud, mostly for his own benefit, 

“Becca is already inside. I think that’s guns enough. Don't you?” Gran asked.


	8. Things I Never Considered

“Stiles asked me how one time, at a solstice party at Scarlett Willow’s place,” Peter said quietly. He yawned and stretched out next to her. “You can see, the ritual is so complicated and fragile. It seems far fetched he did it unintentionally.” 

“I was there, that's impossible,” Becca argued. 

“I know. We don't know how you’re possible, or how Derek is possible. All I’m saying is impossible is sometimes just improbable with a lot of help,” Peter pointed out. He was right, but Becca didn't like how everything he said made it sound like Stiles and the whole family were malicious and hiding something insidious from her. 

“Being possessed by two spirits strong enough to change a person should kill them.” Becca took a deep breath and turned over on her back, letting the book drop to the floor. “But I think it’s less likely if you’re in good shape to begin with.” 

“I’m not. I still think you should go to Scott. I know you’re more comfortable inflicting me, but--”

“I think I can fix you,” Becca said before Peter made his pitch for Scott again. 

“How?” Peter asked. “There’s nothing in that book.” 

“No, but I learned from Trudy. Usually I’m with the nematon because we’re fixing up humans, but I channel fire energy and the wolf is made of fire energy...” Becca paused, unsure if she needed to explain further. 

“You’re saying you don't need any help from the tree?” Peter asked. 

“I’ve never done this on my own. I could burn out your brain, or destroy your wolf spirit,” Becca admitted. 

“Like you said, we’re down to our egos, superglue, and duct tape,” Peter shrugged. “I trust you.”

“Give me your hand,” Becca asked. Peter presented it to her palm up without question. He had faith in her, and that made Becca nervous. She didn't have the luxury of it though, so she took his hand and folded it up in hers before letting it fall back on his chest. “Just relax and don't interrupt me.” 

They lay side by side on the big, white mattress, the cage door open just a little because Peter cleared out the house he said. Their plates still had a little evidence of the huge piles of sandwiches and fruit Peter brought her, but it was clean in the basement otherwise, and quiet. There was nothing to distract her but Peter. 

It was easy to see inside Peter’s wolf spirit. Like all werewolves, it traveled along his nervous system, clinging and rooting everywhere so it could change the body at will. From it’s place in the nerves it could affect hearing, seeing, strength, healing, but right in the middle, around Peter’s heart, it was broken. The damage reminded her of pictures she had seen of bridges after an earthquake. Wire hanging free, ends and pieces floating around in the river below, sinking. 

Tentatively, Becca found a shred of red, vibrant energy clinging to the nerves that ran over his shoulder and imagined connecting it to the next with a thin little thread of fire spirit near his heart. In her mind she watched in connect and grow bright, saturating the nerves and falling back into place where it should have been all along. There was nothing rushing her along, so she worked slow and careful. Becca connected another piece, and another. She worked in silence until Peter’s chest held a bright, glowing red heart, spiderwebbed around his real heart, beating in tandem like it always should have. 

“I think I understand why they did it,” Peter said quietly. 

“Did you know I was done?” Becca asked. 

“Of course I did. I feel like I can actually breathe for the first time in years,” Peter smiled. He held her hand against his chest and turned toward her more. “I didn't understand why they seemed so hell bent on keeping me away. I didn't understand why it seemed like they wanted to hurt me, but now I think they were trying to keep you from happening.” 

“Why?” Becca asked. 

“Because what you can do is too much. You’re too powerful. There are people out there that would use you if they could. If you can do what you just did in the time it takes to make dinner, how good would you be at building werewolves, or destroying them? Maybe other creatures too?” 

“Building them?” Becca asked. 

“Why not? You could probably dismantle them, change them. Make them stronger and faster?” Peter pointed out. 

Curious, and more than willing to use Peter as a test subject, Becca sent a surge of fire spirit through him. The new pieces soaked it up, grew and conformed to be bigger and more powerful than they were before. 

“You shouldn't have done that,” Peter said breathlessly as the new power surged through him 

“Why, are you okay?” Becca waited, poised to take it back if he said so. 

“Because it’s been so long,” Peter took a deep breath and shook his head. “It’s okay. Like riding a bike, probably,” he laughed. “Slow steps would be better in the future, just in case,” he suggested. 

“You’re okay?” Becca asked. 

“I’m better than ever,” Peter assured her. “Still nothing like you.” Peter flashed her a playful grin and held his arm out. “Arm wrestle? You can kick my ass and tell everyone how much better you are than your old man,” he laughed. 

“No,” Becca giggled. pushing him away. “God, you’re a dork.” 

“Ah, now you know my secret,” Peter said brightly. “I was always in a pretty good mood back then. I think I just didn't notice how broody and surly I got.” 

“Derek described you just like that,” Becca admitted. “He also said you were controlling and didn't let them leave.” 

“I was afraid of what might happen to them. We talked about moving more than once, but I couldn’t--I didn't want to go if you and Bobby were still here,” Peter said. 

“If they knew this was a possibility, they might do something to stop it,” Becca agreed. “They wouldn't want me to have to live with it, always having to make the choice to be good." 

“Maybe they spent too much time trying to make sure it didn't happen and not enough time preparing for if it did, but that doesn't make them bad, Becca. Just unprepared.” 

“I know.” Becca didn't like admitting it, but she had seen first hand how unprepared Scott and Stiles could be. Gran was usually in the know, but not always enough and Becca couldn't even think about Trudy. “Is there a way to make me weaker?” Becca asked. “Like the wolfsbane?” 

“It can, but it’s too painful,” Peter warned. 

“Do you think if I share that will make it less strong?” Becca asked. “I can feel it all the time now, prowling in the back of my head.” 

“Maybe, but the prowling is the shapeshifter. You won't share that. It will stay the same.” 

“It makes me nervous, like I might just snatch someone and gut them for fun,” Becca admitted. 

“It’s the same as first getting your driver's license and driving too fast. You feel like you want to do it because you can, that’s all,” Peter explained. 

“I feel like it’s more than that.” 

“It might be, but you don't have to give in. You are a predator now, but you don't have to be a killer.” Peter’s words meant more than she let them mean before.

Becca hadn't thought of herself as a predator. She was changed, evolved, and her subconscious mind would work differently. It would see things in terms of weak and strong, pack, enemy, and prey. Things might be easier if she consciously thought of things the same way. It still couldn't erase the fact that no one could restrain her or even fight her if she got loose. She didn't want to kill anyone else and the longer she waited to give Peter what he needed to stop her, the higher the chance something like that might happen. 

Curious what being a predator meant, Becca stretched her arm out in front of her, New muscles rippled under the surface, her hands were thicker and powerful looking, like Laura’s. She imagined her claws were long and back like Derek’s and suddenly her hand was transformed. Her long fingers bulged at the tips to accommodate the thick, shiny, black curved claws that were neatly hooked at the ends. 

“You look so much like Talia now.” Peter smiled at her. “I liked the black, but mine are brown.” 

“Show me,” Becca asked. 

“Sometimes reactions are triggered by perceived threats. It’s probably not a good idea until later.” Peter warned. 

Fighting off a moment of trepidation, Becca picked up Peter’s hand again. 

 

“I know you’re not sure, but we’re connected by every aspect of the ritual, ancestors, blood, protection. This should work,” Becca said again. 

“You’re doing okay, we should call Scott maybe,” Peter pressed. 

“Are you afraid?” Becca asked. 

“No, not at all,” Peter said. “I don't want you to get stuck with me. I’ve never been very good at--any of it,” he admitted. 

“I’m not worried,” Beca assured him. “You might not ever be able to access the fire elements though. You feel when a heat wave is coming, or a forest fire, but you might not ever be able to use them. It’s really difficult.” 

“I don't really need that part, do I?” Peter asked. 

“No, I don't think so.” Becca folded his hand back up on his chest and turned over to lay her head on his shoulder. “Have you ever seen the symbol for God that we use in our rituals?” she asked when she was comfortable against him. 

“I remember. Your mother has a wall hanging, the blue one,” Peter recalled. 

“Exactly. Just picture that and try to stay focused so you don't mess me up,” Becca asked. 

“I will try not to mess you up,” Peter covered his mouth when he laughed, then dropped his hand and went still. Becca had to stop smiling for long enough to close her eyes. She expected to see the pathways of the wolf spirit in his body, instead she found dark blackness reaching out as far as she could see.


	9. Conversations In Your Own Head

"Rebecca," a voice called to her. Green, yellow eyes stared at her from behind dry brush. The black and red jackal stalked out from behind it, eyes fixed on her. It’s long, spindly front paws danced on the dusty ground while it decided if it wanted to come closer. She was cross legged in the dirt, wearing the white night gown her grandmother had put on her. “Are you here to listen?” It asked her. “We’re ready to talk.” 

"Who are you?" Becca asked. 

"I’m the god that gives you power, all that fire running through your veins.” It said. The jackal moved closer, meandering and sniffing at the ground before it committed to joining her. “I’ve been giving you answers, guiding you, showing you right and wrong your whole life, but for some reason you stopped listening," the jackal smiled, licking the air like a dog might do. "You can't do that, you're too powerful." 

“Why?” Becca asked. 

“Because you are. We don’t know why anymore than you do,” the jackal dropped down on the ground in front of her and laid his head on it’s giant paws. It’s ears perked up when she reached out to pet it. “We love you,” it said. 

“Then why did you hurt my family?” Becca asked. 

“We were new. We didn't remember some things. It was our fault,” the jackal twisted it’s head and whined, low and apologetic. “It’s been a long time for us. We forgot how powerful we were,” it apologized. 

“I’m with my father now about to try to--”

“We know. We’re intervening. We don't usually do that,” the jackal yipped and growled, low and quiet. It nosed at Becca’s hand like it wanted her love. “That man's heart is full of himself on one side and shriveled on the other. The moment you're not useful anymore..." 

“He loves me.” Becca dropped her hands and the jackal sat up, sitting on it’s haunches like a regal house cat. 

“He does. He loves himself and it doesn't stop him from hurting himself either,” the jackal said crisp and matter-of-fact. “We choose, and we don’t choose him. We’re here because we love you enough to tell you ourselves that we won't give him our blessing.” 

“Oh,” Becca said. “I guess if you’re in my head, this conversation isn't that strange. 

“He’s tricked you,” the jackal said as it curled up in her lap. It’s head was stretched out over her chest so she could hold it and pet it even though it was too big. “You can love him, but don’t trust him. His soul is corrupted by hate.” 

“I gave him power,” Becca admitted. 

“You fixed him. It was merciful,” the jackal said. Becca realized it’s lips didn't move, but it’s eyes seemed to follow it’s words. 

“Why am I like this?” Becca asked. “Why am I even here?”

“Because I loved you best, before I knew you, I loved the idea of you.” The Jackal snuffed at her hair and panted like it was happy. 

“You said I was fire and death,” Becca said. 

“That was the exuberance of our birth,” The jackal said apologetically. “You are meant to burn the corruption from this world. To bring death to those past help, and free those who suffer at the hands of the corrupt.” 

“That seems wrong. I don’t want to kill anyone?” Becca shook her head, recoiling at the idea. 

“You are a merciful death. You are the beautiful angel that will usher the lost to death's door and send them through feeling loved and safe. You will end the pain of those who have suffered most, and can no longer go on.” The jackal peered at her from under a long strand of her hair. It looked sad, like it didn't understand. 

“I don't like the idea of killing,” Becca admitted. 

“Death is inevitable. There is no greater gift one corporeal being can give to another than to ease the suffering and fear of death, and it is yours to give. They will not fear you. They will love you,” the jackal smiled again and licked it’s own nose like it was happy. 

“I thought I was a monster,” Becca said quietly, shame creeping over her cheeks. 

“To many, you will be, and you will do monstrous things, but your actions will be just, and fair.”

“But won’t I get in trouble?” Becca asked. 

“Man’s laws can’t govern supernatural forces. Sometimes we have to govern ourselves.” 

“I think understand,” Becca said. “Can I talk to you again?” 

“I know what you want to know. I can show you the truth because I lived in your mother when she knew Peter,” the jackal said. 

“How?” Becca asked. 

“From my perspective. From the outside. Quiet and hidden, but always watching.” The jackal pressed it’s nose to her neck and snuggled itself against her. “It will hurt because you love him.” 

“I want to know,” Becca assured it. 

Loud wind blew all around her. There was a hurricane outside, but it was quiet inside. The fire spirit held outside of the parish house walls, just as Gwen intended. Trudy was with everyone else in the house closest to the nematon, protecting them. But Gwen was in the parish house protecting all of it’s priceless contents. A single soul, nearly dead, wandered up the front porch. Gwen rushed to answer and found Peter, half drown, half beaten to death by the elements. It didn't take long for him to heal once she cared for him. They stayed up all night, talking and sharing each others company. 

The next day Gran asked Peter to identify the largest tree in the village, and when he didn’t point to the nematon he was politely asked to leave and never come back. He couldn't see it, those were the rules. Gwen was devastated. She found Peter in New Orleans later and asked him to stay. He bought a big house near the parish, the one he lived in now, to try and impress Gwen, to get her to leave her family and move in with him. They carried on in secret for months, meeting at the house nearly every day. One day Peter proposed and Gwen said no. They didn't need it, they were happy. 

Peter decided he wasn’t interested in living on the outside anymore, he wanted the incredible power that existed inside the village. He wanted to be accepted and live with Gwen there. Peter researched and planned, hoping to convince Gwen to share her power, but Gwen knew better, she refused and warned him. Peter kept searching, convinced he could get what he wanted. Gwen begged Peter to stop, for her and for Becca. Peter relented for a short time, but being separated from everyone was too difficult for him. Gwen felt obligated to stay in the village, and that drove him harder to find a way to be with them. 

In the end Peter tried to use the trinity of blessings from the greek werewolf myth on Gwen, but it didn't work. He created the connection, but the spirit didn't choose him. Trying to drag the power out of Gwen forcibly left her addled and broken and obsessed with Peter, who she remained connected to forever. It was no different from the connection Stiles and Derek had, but Gwen couldn't make sense of it with her brain permanently damaged. 

The god, the jackal and Becca all had some empathy for Peter, but he chose wrong. He hurt Gwen for his own happiness. He left Bobby and Becca motherless and fatherless because he couldn't compromise, or walk away. The jackal whined and snuffed at Becca’s neck, unhappy to show her something that hurt her so much, but finally she was thankful to know the truth. The three of them wanted to make Peter pay for what he had done, but Becca decided taking away everything he had gained was enough. 

“Remember, always, how much I love you,” the jackal said. It turned over in her lap, wanting attention and love in return before it jumped up and trotted away.


	10. Finding the Same Page

“I can't feel her anymore,” Laura whispered. 

“Like she’s dead?” Derek asked, alarmed. 

“No, like she just--” Laura made a poof gesture with her hand, trying to be quiet. 

The moment they showed up outside the gates of Peter’s property Gran had been speaking to all the werewolves that were gathered there, waiting, like they had no idea what to do. There was Vernon Boyd, Peter’s right hand. Derek always liked him even though Boyd never gave him much of a reason. Cora hugged him tight, her eyes fixed on Boyd’s smile in a way that said they were even more fond of each other that they were when Derek still lived there. Erica was new, but she and Kira seemed to hit it off, but everyone liked Kira. 

The twins were new, and one of them was injured. It wasn't something a person could normally see, but Derek could. Peter, or another alpha, had tried to tear his heart out. The kid lived, but he wasn't whole anymore. Trudy was working on his injury, holding his chest while the other twin tried to tell him he would be okay. Trudy kept laughing even though neither of them were speaking and making the twin she was fixing very uncomfortable. Finally Trudy grabbed them both and they looked at each other like they regretted letting Gran talk them into getting help. 

“If she would have died, I would have felt it,” Laura said out loud, even though she didn't need to. 

“It’ll be alright,” Derek assured her. 

After a few more tense minutes Stiles slid off the hood of the truck and made his way over, Scott following close behind. “She’s okay,” Stiles said. He covered his eyes, squinting because of the sun. “Scott can hear her breathing,” Stiles assured him. 

“We’re all still too injured I guess,” Derek said stiffly. He didn't even want to look at Stiles. He was so angry. 

“Trudy can help you out. She seems to be on a roll,” Stiles offered. 

“No, we’re fine,” Derek said. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said abruptly. “I’m sorry for everything, just stop being mad at me. We have bigger problems.” He gestured to the house and dropped his hands in defeat when Derek just stared at him. “I really mean it Derek. I hate this.” Stiles turned, his eyes fixed on the ground, and walked away. 

“This is your fault. Scott is the alpha there. You challenged him and started the fight,” Laura whispered as Stiles walked away. Scott looked back over his shoulder at Derek, his expression painfully earnest and apologetic. 

“I know it is,” Derek admitted. “I’m just so pissed at everyone for treating Becca like she’s an adult.” 

“Dude, that’s your own bullshit, not hers,” Laura scoffed. “You wish someone could have come along and saved you from yourself when you were her age so Kate and the fire never happened, but being mad at them isn't going to make fifteen year old you any smarter.” 

“Me and Becca aren't in the same position. Her’s is more dangerous,” Derek said, choosing to ignore most of what Laura said. 

“Yeah, that’s the point. She’s smarter than me, you, and Cora put together,” Laura assured him. "Me and you were like the blind leading the blind, but she knows what's up."

"No she doesn't. She's not like you, and Stiles, and Trudy. She thinks, she's literal and things have to be spelled out for her. If Peter says things and they make sense, they're true." Derek didn't want to argue with Laura again, or compare himself to Becca over and over just to be told he was the one lacking because Laura still blamed him a little. He wanted them to finally recognize Becca had flaws. Big ones, and Peter could exploit them. "If she's not out here once she wakes up again, soon, I'm going in and talking sense into her." 

Stiles eyed him from the hood of the truck. Scott relayed the message because Stiles was too far away to hear. Eventually Stiles nodded and went back to talking to Scott and Erica. 

"I guess that's permission," Laura scoffed. 

"We don't give each other permission. We give each other respect." Derek pushed away from Peter's fence and turned to go to Stiles. Scott vanished with Erica a moment later and Derek was face to face with a person he knew so well but felt like his nemesis for the last few hours. “Gran brought food, right?” Derek asked, probably a little too angrily. 

“Yeah, you hungry?” Stiles asked. 

“We’re all starving. The werewolves at least,” Derek said a little more kindly. Gran walked past him and went to open the cab of the pickup but Derek reached past her and held the door open, then grabbed the basket she unearthed behind the seats. The frenzy of relief and gratitude that descended around him when Gran offered up a simple, cold meal surprised Derek. For a moment no one cared which side everyone might be on. No one was cautious or guarded, and Boyd even laughed. “I think Gran might be the greatest diplomat alive.” Derek leaned in close to whisper to Stiles, but ended up with lips pressed against his for his effort. 

It was a quick kiss, nothing anyone else noticed, but Stiles looked away and took a bite of his sandwich before they got caught. “I love you,” he mumbled from behind his lunch. 

“I love you too,” Derek said back, surprised by how sorry he really was. “Do you really think we won’t survive if we storm the place?” Derek asked. 

“Probably not,” Stiles said after he finished chewing. “One sign from Laura or Scott she’s in trouble though and you and me are going in,” he promised. 

“Good,” Derek nodded, glad they were finally on the same page.


	11. My Fierce and Wild Heart

The problem was, he smelled so good, like home and Gwen, and a little like Bobby. Hurting him wasn’t something she thought she could do, even though she knew what Peter had done to Gwen, how he hurt her to try to get what he wanted. Part of him did it because he wanted so desperately to be accepted, but mostly he wanted power like they had. His intentions started out good, but were corrupted somewhere along the way. 

Asking him how or why would only let him know his plan hadn’t worked. Becca would probably never get an answer, only more lies. She had a moment to be with him, love him and pretend everything was okay. It was never going to be enough, but it was more than she ever thought she would get. The cotton of his shirt was soft, and she fit next to him like they had always been that way. Maybe they were when she was little, but she just didn’t remember. Becca wished she could. As she pressed her face to his big shoulder and held his hand tighter, she wished she remembered the person he pretended to be. That person had been real for a while, but Becca was too young to know she shouldn’t be taking it for granted. 

Losing him when he was still there, still warm and kind, still willing to love her and laying right next to her was a kind of torture she never imagined. She wasn’t sure she could live with what came next even though she could feel it boiling under her skin. She had no say in it, the other two saw to that. They did it because she couldn’t, and they loved her. She was silent as the inky black marks she had been waiting to see for years bloomed across her skin like sumukhwa ink. They were like the marks Stiles had, but black like coal. The twisting mark on her thumb began to glow like a dull ember. It spread out across her hand and Peter looked down, startled by the burning heat surrounding his hand. 

To his credit, Peter looked at her first, before he let go. He was worried something was wrong with her, and willing to hold on through the pain if there was. Maybe that was why the god showed him mercy. One day Becca would ask, but at that moment she just wanted it to be over. When she was done with him, his eyes were solid red, like blood, and his skin was dull and stonelike. He was the color of ash. All the life he had taken from others , had been taken from him. He blinked painfully, confused as to why he was suffering instead of being rewarded. 

“Are you in pain?” Becca asked. Peter reached for her, his cold, stiff hand clasping her arm like he was begging for help, or maybe forgiving her. “It didn’t choose you,” Becca told him, but he already knew that. He didn’t feel the same anymore. He wasn't warm, and his shoulder was like stone under her cheek. She could love him anyways, just as he was. “I have to go, but I’ll be back to check on you,” Becca said as she let him go and climbed to her feet. 

The book that had led him to such insane and false conclusions sat on the floor next to the bed. Becca picked it up and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll bring Bobby by sometime, if that’s okay?” Becca asked. Peter scowled, unable to move yet, but he would be up and about sooner than he probably should have been. “Is it okay if I call you Dad?” Becca asked, mostly because she wondered what Bobby would want. 

“Becca, please.” Peter’s bloody red eyes pleaded with her, hoping against all proof that she would fix him, or explain things he already knew. “Rebecca,” he said again, his voice hoarse and broken. Still, the pull was there. His power as alpha, as her father, maybe just his charm. Something was there calling to her. 

Part of her wanted to follow the thoughts of mercy she had to some kind of conclusion that made it easier. They would sit on the front porch with mint teas and cookies, laughing about that one time Peter was tuned to stone, almost. Daydreams like that were nice for a moment, but the reality of Peter was never that whimsical or kind. Becca took his outstretched hand and closed her eyes, forcing her way past the thick layer of pain and resistance he put up. She found the tiny, spider web-like tendrils that connected him to other creatures and broke them all one by one. 

“Please,” Peter tried to sob, but he couldn’t. He was something different. Not a mummy, or a corpse, not stone, or ash, or necrotized flesh. He was lifelessness embodied. A monster with a face that finally matched his outsides. “Becca, what did you do?” Peter gasped. 

Thankfully his honey like voice was gone, and she wasn't worried about anyone coming to help him. He could barely see, and he couldn’t eat if he tried, she assumed. But he would heal, eventually. She didn't owe him any more explanation. He had taken all the time and love from her he was ever going to take. Whatever she gave him from then on was going to be her choice. 

“Be careful Peter. If you hurt people again, I’ll have to stop you,” Becca warned. 

“Becca, no,” Peter said as frantically as he could. He struggled to get up, but he was trapped. Becca locked the cage and put the key on the floor next to the door. Certain he could pick it up when his hands started working again. He was quiet, unmoving except for his eyes as he watched her leave. “I love you. I’m sorry,” he whispered, but they both knew she could hear him. 

As she walked up the stairs hoping to find an easy way out, Becca wondered if she should have said it back. She did, and maybe he needed to hear it. They would have a long time to work things out though. She intended to come back soon and make sure he was okay. 

At the top of the stairs Becca opened the door and found the foyer, and what was too big and ornate to be anything but the front door. She stopped when she spotted a photograph of what had to be Talia and Peter, but it looked so much like she and Bobby, in a few years, that she picked it up and walked out the door with it, certain no one would mind if she borrowed it for a while. 

It was bright on the front porch. Becca shaded her eyes against the bright mid-day sun. Off in the distance, down the long front drive that wasn’t much more than a dirt path through dead grass, Becca spotted what looked like the shiny, white roof of Kira’s oversized truck. She ran toward it, excited they had come for her until she heard unfamiliar voices arguing. A chorus of voices called out her name suddenly as someone spotted her running toward them. 

Then there it was again, the beacon, the heart beat that called out to her, promising Becca everything she wanted. Laura scaled the fence and dropped to the other side, running for Becca like her life depended on it. The crash of her arms around Becca’s shoulders threw the photo to the ground and shattered the glass, but neither of them cared. 

“I heard you,” Becca said because she didn’t know what else to say. 

“I heard you too, but I couldn’t--” Laura stopped suddenly, her arms so tight it made Becca ache, but it didn’t bother her. What demanded all her attention was the pain and anguish pouring out of Laura. The guilt at not having found Becca first, of not knowing she was going to change. Laura didn't have to say those things out loud. Becca could feel it hanging around Laura like a dark cloud. “We were trapped in the mausoleum. Boyd let us out and we went to your people,” Laura said as she released her grip on Becca enough to look at her. “Are you okay?” Laura asked. 

“I’m more worried about you and Derek, so I guess I am,” Becca smiled. 

Laura finally let her go to pick up her broken picture and book. “Sorry, we’ll fix it, okay?” Laura promised. 

“I know, it’s fine,” Becca assured her. 

“Hey, Becca,” Stiles called to her. 

In an act of stupidity or heroism, Stiles was teetering on the top of the gate, about to put his leg over when a pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him back down. Becca couldn’t help but laugh at the shock on his face. She took the picture and slipped it inside the book, leaving the big frame and broken glass behind on the ground. She followed Laura to the gate and up over the top after she handed the book to a very happy, very alive Derek on the other side. When she was on her feet Derek tried to outdo Laura’s hug. Stiles was next, but he didn't make a show of it. 

Gran hovered at the edge of the crowd, her smiling, grateful face was enough to almost make Becca cry. She ran toward Gran, but saw Trudy on the way and caught them both up in a hug. 

“Child, you had better be careful with me,” Gran teased as she patted Becca’s shoulder. 

“You look so different,” Trudy said as she grabbed Becca’s much less skinny arm and held it out, marveling at the subtle changes. “I remember when your mom had an ass like that,” she snickered. “Hopefully you’ll get to keep it longer than she did.” 

“Christ Trudy,” Gran cursed. “Now we know you’re alright Becca, I think I want to go home,” she said. Gran looked exhausted, far more so than she had in a long time. 

“I’ll take you guys home,” Stiles offered. “All of you are welcome to come home with us, but how is up to Scott.” Stiles followed gran around the side of the truck and helped her in while Trudy climbed in the back. 

“I want to get out of here, now,” Scott said to all of them. I say we head to the wilds,” he pointed toward their property. “We can all talk there and decide what you all want to do,” he offered. 

Laura stayed close to her as they followed Scott. Everyone came because they had to, or they had nowhere else to go. By the time they got out to a spot that made Scott happy, Derek was breathing heavy and so was Laura. they were both still recovering. Becca wanted to do or say something, but Scott started dictating things right away. He offered sanctuary, and demanded choices be made between the alphas. He was fast, brutal and didn’t mince words. They all listened quietly, even Laura, until Scott decided they were done and ready to go. 

“I think we need to stay,” Laura spoke up. 

“Can we? Peter is still there,” Derek asked. 

“He’s hurt. He won't be moving for a long time,” Becca assured them. “Why do we need to stay?” She was worried someone had said something. That they wanted to punish her at the village for committing violence, which was a big rule to break. Maybe Laura didn’t want to let her go back. 

“Derek is hurt,” Laura said. “He needs to rest. We can go to the diner or--”

“We don’t want you guys to stay,” one of the twin boys said. “Peter’s dangerous. He might come after you guys. We need to stay together.” 

“Why doesn’t she just fix him like Trudy fixed us?” the other one asked, pointing at Becca. 

“Trudy said she could,” the other one said to Laura like he expected Laura to make her do it, which was absurd. 

“Can you?” Laura asked her. 

“I should have offered right away,” Becca admitted. “I’m sorry Derek,” Becca said as she handed Laura the book again and hugged Derek. The moment she closed her arms around him it was easy to see his broken spots. For a moment she couldn't concentrate because she was thinking about how much she hurt him, and how she wished she could take it back. Laura’s hand ran across her shoulder, trying to soothe Becca. She wondered how much Laura could feel, and how much she knew. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Becca said to Derek in a whisper. 

“I know you didn't mean it. I’m sorry I started that fight. It was my fault. We were supposed to take care of you,” Derek said. He pressed his face against her hair and kissed her forehead before he hugged her extra tight. “We’re okay, no matter if you fix me or not.”

There was no way Becca was going to leave him like he was. She had spent plenty of time traipsing around in his nervous system, not because he needed help healing so much, but because he was an enigma, and they wanted to know. Visualizing the pathways in Derek’s body was like running the same [path down to the blackberry patches everyday. She knew it so well it only took her seconds to find the broken pieces, but so much of Derek’s energy was water element, the fire spirit struggled to find their way back to each other to repair the thin, intricate network that ran through his body. 

Broken connections around his chest and neck pulsed angrily, and painfully Becca imagined. She had to go carefully, stitching together one at a time gingerly through the opposing energies because flooding him with fire element the way she did to Peter would throw the tangled, complex, symbiotic structure inside him out of balance. Every time she got a look at it Becca marveled at what his body had created to adapt. The shape shifting energy flowed along his nervous system like all of them, but the water elements flowed freely in his blood and bones. It was painstaking work, but worth it when she felt Derek breathe deep and relax in her arms. 

“What’s she doing?” one of the twins asked. 

“Shh!” Scott’s harsh protest almost made Becca laugh. 

Finishing off her work, Becca took a little step back, silently asking for his approval. 

“That was a lot faster than the last time Trudy had to help me out,” Derek said like he was surprised and a little dismayed. “And what are these?” he asked, running a quick hand down her arm. 

“Same sorta thing Stiles has,” Becca said even though she didn't think she really needed to explain.

“But I thought you got those when you learned to channel?” Derek asked. 

“No, when you learn to control it,” Becca said. “I never understood why they hadn't come. I guess I wasn't finished.” 

“Did you do something to Peter to make him let us go?” one of the twins asked. 

Becca turned around and looked at the two of them, almost perfect carbon copies of each other. Handsome, suspicious, and complete opposites. “I did. I severed all his connections to everyone. If he wants any friends, family, or pack he has to start over.” 

“Brutal,” Boyd grinned. “Sorry, I know he’s your dad but--”

“No, he deserved it,” Becca agreed. “Can we go or does anyone else need help?” 

“I think I have a papercut,” said a gorgeous blonde girl standing next to Boyd. Cora gave her a hard look, but she just grinned wickedly and winked at Becca like it was a great joke. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she smiled. 

“Come on,” Scott said. “Let’s run.”


	12. The Lions Share of Jackals

A few miles into the trees Derek pulled out ahead of her and glanced over his shoulder. Becca had seen the same challenging look a hundred times. She pulled ahead of him easily, and he laughed like she was showing off. Scott and Kira chased each other like foxes, running ahead, hiding and tagging each other until Scott hit a tree full speed because he was too busy watching Kira grin at him. Isaac rolled his eyes a little like it wasn't anything new. 

Their easy banter and playfulness was something Becca saw in the conversations they had over the dinner table, but watching them up close she felt like she had missed out on something. Sometimes she was happy and funny, but she was never playful anymore, not like she used to be when Bobby was more interested in climbing trees and tag than video games. She wondered if Bobby played with Scott because she was so busy studying and working all the time. Becca didn't like the idea of it. 

“He’s the alpha?” one of the twins asked Laura, who was running right next to Becca. 

“I like him,” the other one grinned, watching Scott as he ran off his injuries and caught full speed again. 

“What’s your name?” Becca asked. 

“Ethan, Aiden,” the said in tandem, pointing to each one. 

“I bet you can’t catch me?” Becca grinned, pulling out in front of Laura quickly. When she was sure the twins had given chase, she ran hard through a clearing. She knew the wilds close to the village better than anyone. She waited until they were almost on top of her and pulled out again. When they lost her in the trees she ran around the clearing and fell in line next to Derek and Laura again. “I guess I lost them,” Becca shrugged. Derek laughed, but Laura just glanced her direction like it was old news. 

When they passed the twins, who were trying to find her trail by scent, the look of outrage and surprise on both of their faces was worth the dry look she got from Laura. “Maybe next time?” Becca teased them. 

“Unfair, you cheated,” Ethan shouted after them. 

“Those two are trouble,” Laura muttered. 

“So am I,” Becca grinned. 

“You wish,” Derek scoffed. 

A shrill whistle cut through the air and got everyone’s attention. Scott waited for them up ahead. They all gathered closer as they approached him, stopping right outside the village line near Talequa. “We have rules here. No violence, ever, for any reason. We help when we see help is needed, if you know the person or not, and if you can see the tree, you’re family. No questions asked,” Scott announced. 

“What tree?” Ethan whispered to her. 

“You’ll see, or you won’t. Believe me,” Becca promised. 

As they walked through the tree line, past the nematon, Boyd looked up and stopped to marvel at the gigantic oak tree. The blonde girl with the wicked smile broke through the tree line right after him and stepped right into his side, wrapping her arm around her waist until she decided it wasn't quite enough and went right up to the tree. She touched it gingerly, then leaned against it like she was listening to it’s pulse. Becca was surprised she could hear it. Usually only earth and fire channelers could. 

“Holy shit,” Ethan cursed in a low whisper as he came through behind Becca and Derek. 

“That is awesome,” Aiden agreed. “This is it?” he asked. 

“Obviously,” Laura said. “You guys come up to the white house when you’re done to eat, alright?” Laura grabbed Becca’s elbow, making it clear she was following. “Cora, stay with them.” Laura added. Cora was happy staying with Boyd anyways. 

Somehow Becca expected it to be different, but the parish house was exactly the same as it had always been. She could see more dirt and dusty in the kitchen, which bothered her for a moment, but she got over it quickly. She followed Derek and Laura out to the main room. Stiles was sitting at the table with a woman whose hair was exactly like her mothers. When Becca realized it was her mother, and she was laughing at something Stiles said, Becca ran past Laura and Derek, stumbling to a stop next to her Gwen. 

“Mom? Beca said too loudly. Her mother looked startled when Becca grabbed her face and looked at her eyes. Gwen looked right at her and raised her eyebrows like there was something wrong with Becca. “Mom, are you okay?” she asked. 

Gwen laughed and grabbed Becca’s hand before she could check her mother for more signs she’d been hurt, or something else to explain why she wasn't at home. Gwen held her hand firmly and shook her head. “You didn't come home last night Rebecca,” her mother said sharply. Her voice was soft, and light, but more present than Becca had seen in years. Her mother dropped her hands and looked at the new people all around her, stopping on Laura. “Oh, child,” her mother said gravely. “Sweet child you are hurt, come here,” Gwen demanded. 

Unsure what to do, Laura looked over at Becca. She wanted to see what her mother would do. Becca pulled out a chair grabbed Laura’s arm to pull her into the chair. For a moment Becca was disappointed. All Gwen did was look out the front window that pointed toward the road. Then she snapped back and ran a hand up Laura’s arm. Gwen’s fingers trailed over Laura’s cheek, her eyes like a caricature of sadness. Laura looked uncomfortable and about ready to run when her mother dropped her hands and stared at them like she was confused. 

“I can see the pieces,” Gwen muttered. “Becca, will you get your grandmother? Something is wrong with me,” she sighed. 

“I think Becca can help Gwen,” Stiles assured her. He pointed to Gwen’s hands. “You can help her,” he said again.

It took her too long to understand what Stiles meant. Becca blamed it on shock as she picked up her mother’s hands and glared at Laura, silently insisting she offer her’s up. Laura almost cringed when Gwen curled their fingers together and closed her eyes. Suddenly the marks on Becca’s arms got dark and strong, then they lit up like embers, the same way they had done for Becca, but much stronger. Pure fire spirit ran through Becca’s hands into her mother's, then through Laura. 

“Becca,” Laura whispered, her breath catching in her throat. She held her breath like she felt something profound, her eyes wide. 

“Don’t let go,” Stiles warned. “You’re okay, just let her finish.” 

Curiosity and excitement forced Becca to close her eyes and see what her mother was doing. Expertly, carefully, she had flooded Laura with enough energy to burn her alive on the spot, but Gwen was scrubbing away the imperfections and stretching out the neglected alpha spirit like someone scrubbing a kitchen clean. The tension and anger built up inside Laura like a plague on her mind, vanished like it never existed. Becca realized her mother was using Laura’s own ability to take away pain to burn off the unwanted energy in her body. 

It was so obvious, and genius. Something Becca might never have thought of. Shapeshifters couldn't fix themselves that way, but channelers could borrow the tools for a little while. When her mind began to drift to other possible applications her mother made a loud tisking sound. 

“Focus,” Gwen whispered. A moment later she was done. Gwen released Laura, settling the energy back in Becca’s body with more grace and ease than she could ever imagine having. “There child, better?” Gwen asked Laura. 

“Um,” Laura coughed, pushing back a wave of emotion that made her eyes glassy and her cheeeks red. “Yes, ma’am, thank you,” Laura managed to say. 

“You should go visit the tree,” Gwen said thoughtfully. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Laura said stiffly. She jumped up and all but ran to the front door. 

“What did you just do to my sister?” Derek asked Becca.

“I can't even begin to explain it,” Becca answered. 

“You too, sit,” Gwen demanded, pointing to Derek. 

“Oh, no, um. I’m sorry Gwen, Derek has things to do--just--later, alright?” Stiles stammered when Derek’s eyes went wide. “We’ll be back, thanks Gwen!” Stiles said as he dragged Derek away. 

“Boys,” Gwen giggled. The sound was strange, like something a child would do. 

Whatever had happened to her mother, she was still damaged. She hadn’t been away from the house or the back window of the living room for nearly ten years. Becca wasn't sure what she remembered, but her connection to Peter must have been one of the ones Becca severed. There was no repairing the damage that had been done to her mind though. Maybe someday, Becca hoped, but she was so happy to see her mother alive, different, and deeply concerned about something other than Peter. 

“She came out about an hour ago,” Trudy said as she sat down at the table across from Gwen. “She just walked in and sat down like we expected her here. Then said trouble was coming. We thought maybe you guys were hurt?”

“Not all trouble is bad Trudy,” Gwen snapped at her sister.

Becca looked over at Trudy who smiled back at her. “She started doing that too, which is actually pretty normal,” Trudy shrugged, obviously happy to have her older sister back. 

Gwen sighed and stared at her hands, then reached out for Becca’s arms. “They’re gone, but you have them now,” Gwen smiled so big and wide her eyes almost vanished. “You’re such a good girl Becca. I’m so proud of you,” her mother said excitedly. “If I don't have them, at least you do.” Gwen ran her hands down Becca’s arms, the long, black, paint-like marks sizzled and glowed like fire around Gwen’s hands. “Perfect, and so strong,” she marveled. “You have the jackal in you.” 

“I do, mom, what do you know about the jackal? Why do I see that instead of a wolf?” Becca asked. 

“Because they’re death,” Gwen whispered. 

“What does that mean?” Trudy said, alarmed. 

“People aren't pigs, Trudy. You can't put them back together with a pie chart,” Gwen insisted loudly, like Trudy had said something wrong. 

“What does that mean Mom?” Becca asked. 

“Bobby, come over here, why are you pacing back there like a caged rat?” Gwen said over Becca’s shoulder. 

Becca turned to find Bobby near the front door, he shuffled like his feet refused to stop moving. He eyed Becca cautiously and came toward them, torn between following their mother’s instructions and staying away from his dangerous sister. It broke Becca’s heart a little, but she understood why he would be afraid. She was patient.

“Do you know what happened to Mom?” Bobby asked. It was the same question Becca would have asked if their places were reversed. 

“I think so. I did something to Peter to break his connection to his pack and I think it cut off his connection to Mom as well?” Becca wished she had a sure answer, but Bobby looked relieved. 

“No,” Gwen said loudly. “There will be no talk of the devil under this roof. That name does not belong in your mouth Rebecca Monroe!” Gwen scowled at her like Becca had done something wrong, but she was so happy to hear her mother curse Peter she couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m sorry Mom. We won't bring it up again,” Becca promised. 

Bobby came closer and leaned into her shoulder, “Is she gonna stay like this?” he asked in a whisper. 

Becca nodded, taking a little bit of a leap that Gwen would at least be strange for a while. They might be able to work on it, but she didn't want to get Bobby’s hopes up. 

“Good job.” Bobby nodded. He was still obviously uncomfortable, and probably would be for a while. But he would most likely forgive her, if only because she brought Gwen back to them.


	13. The Garden In My Heart Is A Mausoleum

“Derek Hale and Scott McCall, you accept responsibility for the violence you instigated inside the boundaries of our home, knowing that it is strictly forbidden?” Stiles asked from his place next to Gran at the head of the table. 

The entire village watched the three of them as Derek and Scott agreed. Scott comfortably awaited his punishment with the confidence of someone who had made his apologies and was sitting through the public shame just to be a good example. Derek’s hands were clenched in his lap, even though he already knew what his punishment would be. Becca sat miserably, her stomach churning with guilt because she was the one who was going to have to speak. She had to apologize publicly and ask for forgiveness. Not because they thought she was bad, but because she terrified everyone. 

To the community it didn't matter why she had done what she had done. It mattered how it affected everyone else. Understanding that didn't really make it easier, but it gave Becca a clear idea of what she had to say to make things right. 

“Scott and Derek, you’ll wait to hear what we’ve decided until after Rebecca has said her piece, do you agree?” Stiles asked. He was following the rules of their community to the letter because Derek was his partner and Scott was his best friend. 

“Yes,” Scott said. 

“Yes,’ Derek muttered. Stiles glared at him and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Becca was afraid Stiles was going to be rough with Scott and Derek so it didn't look like he was playing favorites. “Yes,” Derek said louder just to appease Stiles. 

Stiles gave her a small, pitiful half smile. He had been in her seat more than once. if anyone knew how awful she felt, it was him. “Rebecca Monroe, do you accept responsibility for the violence you perpetuated inside the boundaries of our home, knowing that is is strictly forbidden?” 

“I accept full responsibility for my actions,” Becca stated, just like Stiles made her practice. 

“Do you accept responsibility for the damage you caused the parish house?” Stiles asked. 

“I accept full responsibility,” Becca agreed. 

“And do you accept full responsibility for the fear and concern our people face in the aftermath of your choices?” Stiles asked, his voice dropping as he listed off her last and most grievous crime. 

“I do,” Becca cut short her response because she wasn't sure if she could finish and not cry. She promised herself she wasn't going to cry. She dragged her hand across her eyes quickly, brushing away the wetness she wasn't able to stop in time and stood up straight, holding on to herself to her promise. “I understand what I did wrong and I am willing to do what you see fit to make our community feel safe again.” 

“We, as a community, recognize your youth, and the absence of choice you have in your heritage,” Stiles explained. She could tell he didn't like using such a big voice, but he wanted to make everyone feel like justice had been served. “Regardless, all of us bear a responsibility to put the good of the village before ourselves as individuals. We believe you have shown an incredible, and commendable amount of selflessness over the years, and more so since the violence occurred.” Stiles smiled at her quickly, probably trying to make her feel better. Unfortunately his kindness only made the words he said hurt more. 

“We recognize your character, and your heroic and selfless deeds. We will allow Scott and Derek to assist you in your efforts to repay the community. This will also serve as their repayment if everyone is in agreement?” Stiles leaned back in his chair, waiting for them all to agree. They all spoke up in unison, glancing at each other to make sure everyone said else said yes. “Details of the short term and long term repayment will be posted in the parish house immediately. Please direct any questions and concerns to me personally, not our delinquents,” Stiles requested. 

“Now, unless anyone has anything to add you are all free to return to your regular scheduled programming,” Stiles said as he tossed his notes on the table. 

The room burst into a frenzy of talking and laughing as everyone lost focus on their civic duty to socialise. Becca heard her name being bantered around far more than she cared to, but it was the least she expected. 

“That wasn't so bad,” Derek said. 

“Not near as bad as it was when Stiles was over here, not over there,” Scott laughed. 

“I don’t know, if it was up to me I would have just given you a good ass kicking,” Laura grinned as she walked up to Becca and threw her arm over her shoulder. 

“Do you know what irony is?” Derek asked bitterly. 

Laura laughed and brushed off Derek snark. “You gonna stick around kid, or do you want to go out with us? We’re driving up to Nola for the weekend,” Laura offered. 

“I think I need to get started on my project. He did say short term, so I think they expect it soon,” Becca said. 

“What’s the thing? You have to build aqueducts all around here or something?” Laura asked. 

“We have plumbing,” Scott said. 

“You sure?” Laura scoffed. 

“I have to build a new garden near Trudy’s house, and I have to help her with it forever basically. Mostly I have to figure out how to accommodate food needs and figure out the science for Trudy so she’s not just growing whatever she feels like anymore,” Becca explained. 

“Me and Derek are helping build it,” Scott said happily. “We’re also supposed to be guinea pigs.”

“I feel like guinea pig would be a good look on you,” Laura agreed. 

“He means I’m also supposed to write a book on shapeshifter spirits for the library,” Becca explained. “It’s supposed to cover the spirit’s function, physiology and how to provide medical help.” 

“Look at you being all smart Cuz,” Laura beamed proudly. “Next weekend then, plan on it. I want some time with my awesome new family.” 

Becca agreed and Laura moved on to Derek. It had been an odd few days between them. Laura and Cora moved into a houseboat and put up the twins nearby. Boyd and Erica decided to stay with Scott. The worst part was when they went to pick up Laura and Cora’s things from Peter’s house. Peter trapped himself inside the mausoleum as soon as he heard them coming. She could hear his heartbeat, but he didn't respond when she knocked on the door. 

For a moment Becca wanted to break in and tear into him for being so cowardly, then she entertained the idea of fixing him and asking him to love her the way she was sure he really did. He wasn't afraid of her, she could tell from the solid, slow beat of his heart. He just didn't want to see her for some reason. So much so he would rather torture himself by locking himself inside a room full of coffins instead of looking at her face. 

In the end Becca said goodbye through the door, and asked him to call her if he needed anything.


	14. Watch Me Start A Fire

Canning was an awful job, she hated it, and having oodles of crazy werewolf strength wasn't a help anymore when everyone in the kitchen kept wanting her lift and move all the heavy things. She even lifted the refrigerator for her mother once when she dropped a lid and it slid under. Her mother made her stand there holding the refrigerator off the ground while she swept the dust bunnies out and retrieved an old matchbox car. Becca wanted to shout about the unfairness of being trapped in the kitchen with all of the women. She wanted to rant about gender inequity and expectations, until Scott came in and started being painfully helpful. 

“You can get out of here if you want,” Scott whispered. He smiled at her like he understood her pain and shooed her out the door. 

“You’re the best, I owe you,” Becca breathed in relief as she threw off her apron and ran out the back door. 

Running all the way to the pond, Becca dove in. The cool, murky green water washed away the sweat and grime from the kitchen as she swam to the bottom and kicked back up again. She floated on her back for a moment, soaking in the sun and clear sky. The sound of bare feet vibrated through the water as Stiles stalked quietly up to the pond. 

“You’re in my pond,” Stiles stated. 

“I don't see your name on it,” Becca scoffed. 

“Way down at the bottom--”

“Nope, I was just there. Nothing of the sort!” 

Stiles laughed at her pert retort and came right to the muddy edge of the pond.“You made a successful escape?” 

“Barely, I thought you were fixing nets today. Did you escape too?” Becca asked

“Nope, I’m responsible, I finished,” Stiles said. 

“Show off.” 

“Hardly.” Stiles laughed. “I think you’re gonna get a chance to show off though,” he said, digging his toes into the mud at the edge of the pond and letting the bright blue water energy seep into his skin. 

“Why? What’s going on?” Becca asked. 

“I’m not quite sure on that part, but something's coming for you.” Stiles tilted his head in concentration. “I had a dream last night, and the night before. Same as you’re standing here.”

“What?” she asked as she stood up and wading out of the pond. 

“Might want to wring out your hair,” Stiles suggested. Immediately Becca squeezed the water out of her hair and twisted it up tight at the back of her head. “Kick off the shoes too,” Stiles pointed to her feet then looked past her, into the trees. “Lydia Martin,” he said gravely. 

“The banshee?” Becca asked as she toed off her wet sneakers. 

“She’s going to be--” Stiles stopped, startled as a thunderclap shook the ground around them. “No clouds,” Stiles muttered, his eyes fixed on the clear, blue sky above them. He turned toward the parish house and took a deep breath. “Scott!” Stiles shouted at the top of his lungs. Sort of like a request for backup. 

Just as Becca was scanning the treeline a shrill, devastating scream ripped through the wilds just south of the nematon. The sound was unmistakably Lydia Martin. It wasn't a warning though, it was a plea for help. Becca took off, running toward the deafening noise. 

“Becca!” Lydia called out. 

Hearing her name screamed so desperately made Becca run faster, but the trees were dense. Stiles was trying to keep up, but she lost him. Scott caught up with her just as she saw Lydia’s red hair through the trees and slowed down. 

“Becca!” Lydia shouted again, this time it was a normal human shout though. Lydia was small, but she was trying to drag someone toward the parish. She spotted Becca and Scott and dropped to her knees, still holding the person. 

A young man was clinging to Lydia’s arms, gasping and struggling for breath. His face was red and hot. He had a dozen snake bites around his ankles and scattered up to his knee. Terror and pain made his blue eyes bloodshot and wide. Becca pulled him up by the front of his shirt and threw his arm over her shoulder, Scott took his other side and Stiles showed up just in time to help Lydia up off the ground. They made their way through the trees as fast as they could, back to the nematon. 

“He can't die, he’s not supposed to die,” Lydia said. “Scott, you have to help him,” she pleaded. 

“Lydia, where did you come from?” Stiles asked. 

“I was in Houma, but I came here to save him,” Lydia said frantically. “Becca and Scott have to save him!” She was obviously scared they weren't going to believe her, but they knew what she was. “He can't die, he’s not supposed to die.” Lydia repeated herself.

“We understand,” Stiles assured her. “We’ll do what we can.”

Both Stiles and Becca could tell she was frustrated by the vagueness of her visions. The powers weren't kind to banshees to begin with, but they treated Lydia Martin like some kind of epic hero. It wasn’t the first time Lydia had shown up frantic with some poor, half-dead soul she was sent after, armed only with her pretty smile and a little blue Prius. Becca didn't envy Lydia at all. She was so small and human, it didn’t seem fair the powers that be expected so much from her. 

“He’s getting worse, fast,” Scott warned. The blue eyed boy was barely breathing as they came through the trees and dropped him at the base of the nematon. “Stiles,” Scott said urgently, taking Lydia and helping her to the ground while Stiles looked the boy over. 

“I might be able to grab some of this venom,” Stiles said, wrapping his hands around the boys swelling ankles. He looked up at her before he closed his eyes, giving her a quick nod. That was all the permission she needed to go to work on him as well. “Shit, this is bad,” Stiles muttered before she even had her hand on the nematon. 

Still not used to the huge amounts of energy she could channel, Becca gasped when she connected to the nematon and backed off before she set them both on fire. She was keyed up on adrenaline and stress. She had to focus and she was better at that when working on humans if Trudy was there to help. She wasn’t anywhere nearby so that put Scott next in line. Instead of doing it all herself, she could just work through Scott and supercharge his natural ability to heal and remove pain. Gwen had taught her the finer points of that trick over the past few weeks and Scott was her favorite test subject because he never complained. 

Scott was already trying to ease the boy’s pain. Becca covered Scott’s hand with her own waited until he looked up at her, acknowledging he was ready. Thankfully she didn't have to coach him through any of it, he already knew what to expect, mostly. His eyes flared red as the powerful surge of energy ripped through him and back into the nematon. Everything they had done before was just practice compared to the dire situation under their hands this time though. Becca didn't hold back, and Scott looked surprised. 

“Holy crap Becca, I think I’m gonna puke,” Scott whispered. 

“Good that means it’s working,” Becca said. “I’m sure he feels a lot worse.”

Trying to stay strong, Scott scowled and took a few deep breaths as he worked through the worst of it. Long black veins pulsed along his arms darkly, then vanished into the tree. He wasn’t holding on to any of the damage directly, but he still lurched forward, barely holding on to his lunch. 

“Dude, do not puke on him,” Stiles said as he concentrated on the boy’s wounds. “This is too slow, there’s too much venom. It’s already burning up his heart and guts,” Stiles sighed, unhappy he couldn’t help more. 

“Trudy!” Boyd shouted from his front porch. Becca watched him take off across his yard then down the road. Becca hoped he knew exactly where Trudy was, and he brought her back fast.

“Maybe I should go get Gran?” Stiles said hesitantly. 

“No, she can't do any more than you can, and she’s tired Stiles,” Becca said harshly. She glanced over at him, already silently apologizing for her tone. Stiles shook his head just a little, letting her know he didn't care. “He’s getting better, a little. Look at him,” Becca pointed out. 

“He looks more normal,” Scott agreed. “And I don't feel like I’m going to puke anymore. I think we should just keep doing what we’re doing.” 

As soon as Becca resolved to do just that, and closed her eyes to concentrate better, Lydia made an urgent little noise. “This isn’t going to work,” she said. Lydia moved closer to the boy and ran her hands over his arm slowly, like she was looking for something. “He’s still going to die.” 

“I think she’s right,” Stiles said. “What else do you know Lydia?” Stiles asked. 

“He’s paying attention to us,” Lydia warned. “We should ask him.” She said abruptly. Becca wasn’t sure what the boy knew, who he was or what he might say, but she trusted Lydia’s instincts. Lydia grabbed the boy’s face, recklessly unconcerned about resting her arms against Scott and Becca like she should have been. Oddly, she didn’t seem affected by the energy coursing through them, and it dutifully ignored her as well. “Please talk to us,” Lydia asked the boy. “Say something.” 

Still working through Scott, Becca watched him, waiting to see what he had to say. The boy turned his head toward her, his giant blue eyes fixed on her’s and said: “I don’t want to die.” He reached for her, his hand fumbling against her legs before it wrapped around the outside of her thigh. He seemed sharper, more clear, but not for long. Becca felt the turn in energy as the life began to slowly drain out of him. “Please?” he asked again. 

“What’s your name?” Becca asked suddenly, realizing she could get something out of him, if he could answer. 

“Liam.” His eyes darted between her and Scott, frantic and afraid as death crept closer. 

“I’m Becca,” she answered, bracing herself for the vision she felt looming over her. 

The gravity of Liam was profound, like Lydia said. He was like a human magnet, moving people, places and things. Something was wrong though. Liam had an empty place in his soul so big it was like a void staring back at her blankly.Images flashed through her mind of a dark, silvery pond. The glassy surface waiting for something bigger than himself. The vast, empty darkness was familiar in a way, shaped like something she understood so well but couldn't quite place. 

“Goddammit,” Becca cursed. 

“What is it?” Scott asked. When Becca looked up at him she saw everything about him. The energy he was made of, the brightness of his heart, and the strength of his spirit. She was angry at herself and the jackal was awake. “Becca, are you okay?” Scott asked. 

Afraid of what she might do, Becca let Liam go. The glowing, amber eyes she usually kept tucked away let her see everything, all of the energy flowing around her and she realized the missing space inside Liam was shaped exactly the same as Scott’s spirit. 

“Scott, he’s supposed to be a wolf,” Lydia said before Becca could. “Becca can see it.” 

Becca turned to Lydia and saw the death that surrounded her. Beautiful wisps of black that looked so much like Becca’s tattoos swirled around like soft shade. Her eyes were sad pools of black that pulled you in and held you captive if you weren’t careful. It was like staring into an abyss so beautiful Becca didn't want to look away. 

“Becca!” Stiles shouted, unlocking the spell Lydia had accidentally put on her. When she looked at Stiles he turned back to Scott. “This is one of those ‘what would I do if?’ scenarios we talked about bro. He’s going to die if you don’t, and he’s obviously important. It’s the right thing to do.” 

“It doesn't work like that though,” Scott insisted. “You can't bite someone almost dead and expect them to heal. They’ll die before the wolf spirit takes hold and if they don’t they spend weeks as a corpse and that would basically drive him crazy,” Scott explained. 

“I can make it faster,” Becca said. 

“You can't do that, you don't know--,” Scott tried to argue. 

“Do it Scott!” Lydia shouted angrily. “You’re not going to let him die without even trying!”

Dropping his hands to his sides, Scott broke his connection with Liam. Pain flashed across Liam’s face and he was suddenly awake and reaching for Becca. She grabbed his hands and took his pain because she was sure thats all she could do for him anymore. His death was close, and he was in so much pain, the jackal scratched and begged to be let out to do it’s job. It wanted to suffocate him, burn his brain out, or just slid his throat and let him bleed out in seconds instead of watching him die slow. Part of her wanted to do it, but Lydia’s demands were too important to ignore. 

“Swear to me Lydia, this kid is worth breaking my rules for,” Scott demanded. 

“I swear, on my own life,” Lydia promised. 

As Scott took one of Liam’s hands from her, Becca noticed Trudy and Boyd hovering close by. Trudy was holding her breath as she waited for Scott to move. The expression on Scott’s face was a mix of anger and defeat as he sank his teeth into Liam’s arm and waited a moment to make sure it took. Liam’s eyes flared with pain, then closed as he slumped against to the ground. Becca was frozen, unsure what to do next even though she had promised to fix it. She wasn’t sure how, or where to start. Part of her expected him to die before Scott made up his mind. 

Salvation came in the form of Trudy. She rushed past Scott, pushing him out of the way and grabbed Becca’s hands. Instantly she could see the intricate networks and passages in his body better. Becca didn’t know how to anchor to the subtle, weak paths of energy human’s had inside them, but Trudy did. 

“The bite, start there,” Trudy reminded her. 

The tiny shred of alpha energy already infiltrating Liam’s flesh was trying desperately to reach his nervous system. Becca felt Trudy nudge it along, but it was up to her to figure out how to get it to grow. The first thing that came to mind was a seed because she had been neck deep in planning Trudy’s crop rotations. Suddenly she understood exactly how Trudy got the plants to grow so fast. She flooded them with the fire element they needed to grow, and shaped the spirit around the the spark of life they all had in them. Trudy had explained it so many times, but not so literally. 

Inside a body, the heart was the fertile soil for a wolf. Flooding a human body with pure fire spirit would normally kill them, but the moment the spirit hit the spark of alpha energy inside Liam it raced along, heading straight for his heart. There Becca shaped and encouraged the center of power that held the shapeshifter together. The heart of the spirit was the part that took so long to grow. It struggled and fought against the human parts usually, like most birth, it wasn't pretty. It destroyed as much as it saved, but Becca built his heart for him, making it strong and powerful, just like Scott’s. 

Shocked to suddenly be so alive, the spirit howled inside him, and marveled at how powerful it was in it’s newness. The young wolf called out to her because it already knew her, but it was looking for an alpha. It was so joyful, happy to be alive it got right to work healing Liam’s body. 

“It wasn't you Scott,” Becca said. 

“Is he okay?” Scott asked. He was worried and scared for Liam. Becca felt bad for him until he knelt down next to Liam and took his hand. His eyes went wide and he looked over at Becca with gleeful surprise, like she had just given him a present. “He’s just like me!” Scott laughed. 

“He’ll heal faster if we help,” Trudy reminded them.

“I’ll do it. I know how to do this,” Scott assured her. 

“C’mon, lets give these guys some space, we’ll go tell Gran we have a new one,” Stiles said. He stood up and helped Lydia up off the ground and motioned for Boyd to follow. 

Becca and Scott sat silently working on Liam with trudy hovering nearby for hours. He had more damage inside him than just the snake bites. He had been dehydrated and infected with parasites, as well as being exhausted. The sun was low in the sky when Trudy checked on him and said they had done all they could. Liam looked comfortable. He was sleeping the same deep sleep all recuperating people did. She stayed with him as Scott went to go get them food. They ate in silence, keeping quiet for the sake of Liam.

It didn't take long after eating for Scott to drift off to sleep. Derek came by and tried to talk her into going to bed, but Liam was her responsibility until she was told otherwise. Eventually, after a sliver of moon rose over the trees, Becca fell asleep too. She woke up when the warm shoulder she was using as a pillow moved. Liam coughed quietly, his hand tight over his mouth like he was trying not to make too much noise. She sat up and he turned, startled by her sudden movement. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam cringed. “I didn't mean to wake you up.” He held a hand up like he was afraid she might fall over, not quite touching her. 

“Are you okay?” Becca asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Liam laughed softly like it was a stupid question. 

“How long have you been awake?” she asked. 

“A while, I--” Liam grinned sheepishly. “Scott and I talked for a while and you slept through it. I didn't want to move you.”

“You talked to Scott?” Becca asked, surprised none of the conversation woke her up. 

“Yeah, not too long ago,” Liam nodded. “He’s waiting up at the white house over there.” Liam pointed to the parish house. 

“What did Scott tell you?” Becca asked. 

“Some deeply crazy shit,” Liam laughed. “I thought he was nuts for a second. I was about to grab you and run, like they kidnapped us for some freaky cult or something, but he proved it.”

“Proved it how?” Becca liked how unshakable Liam seemed, she wanted to hear him talk more. 

“Like this?” Liam flashed his golden yellow eyes at her and he drew in a sharp gasp. “Whoa, you have tattoos? Holy shit those are awesome,” Liam almost whispered as he marveled at the black marks on her skin that all the shapeshifters could see with shifted eyes. “I didn't notice them before, but I was--where did those come from? Are you different from me?” Liam asked exuberantly. 

“A little,” Becca smiled. 

“You are wicked cool,” Liam grinned. 

“Thanks,” Becca said because she had no idea what else to say. 

“Scott said you saved my life. I guess I owe you one?” Liam asked, but before she could respond his face lit up. “I remember you, out in the woods, with the red headed lady?” 

“Lydia, she found you,” Becca explained. 

“You picked me up, like--” Liam gestured like she was unusually strong and laughed at himself. “That was pretty rad, you should show me again.” 

“You can do it too,” Becca laughed. 

“No way, not like that.” Liam shook his head, not entirely aware of all of his powers yet. “Your Becca, right?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she nodded. 

“Scott reminded me before he walked away, but I was afraid I forgot.” Liam took a deep breath and shook his head a little. “Scott’s a really nice guy? I like him a lot and I don't even know him. Is that weird?” 

“No, Scott’s just like that.” Becca wanted to laugh again, but she was afraid it might stop the rolling tide of Liam’s voice. 

“I don't usually like people, in general. Usually I'd be pissed as hell at the way he talked to me like he could tell me what to do, but--I don't know?” Liam shrugged, looking toward the parish house. “He said I was supposed to go up there as soon as you woke up, but you’re like--” Liam paused and grinned like he was a little embarrassed, but Becca didn't think that was going to stop him. “You’re like, ridiculously gorgeous and I should be such a dork even trying to talk to you? But I feel like I sort of already know you? Is that weird?” Liam covered his face with his hand for a moment but looked back at her, hopeful. 

“I think considering the day you’ve had, weird is probably better than dead,” Becca laughed. 

“I guess cheating death is a pretty great reason to be in a good mood,” Liam agreed. “Can I ask you how you saved me. I mean, Scott said you might not want to say, so it’s--”

“No, it’s okay,” Becca assured him. “He was probably worried you’d be afraid of me but....”

“No, not afraid of you,” Liam grinned. “I know it’s gotta be some freaky supernatural shit, but I’m down. Lay it on me.” 

“Mostly I changed you,” Becca started to explain. “You get that part right?” 

“The super happy wolf in my head and I are sorting that out, yeah,” Liam nodded. He leaned forward and ran his hands over the spots where the snake bites used to be. “I know I’m really different because I’ve never been this happy in my life, but I’m sharp, you know? Not like being high.” 

“I’ve never been high,” Becca blurted out before she could stop herself. She had no idea what he would think of that, then she wondered why she cared. 

“Really? That’s uh--well, you should tell me the rest of the thing.” Liam waved his hand, dismissing their tangent. 

“Well, you were bitten, and changed. But usually there’s a short time when you suffer after being bitten by a werewolf. Your body treats it sort of like a virus. It fights back and the wolf has to win to get you,” Becca explained. 

“But mine only took a few minutes because I was almost dead?” Liam asked. 

“Partly, mostly because I supercharged it,” Becca shrugged. Liam looked confused. “Like it eats electricity and I hit it with lightning.” 

“Oh, cool,” Liam nodded slowly. 

“The weird things is though, with you,” Becca continued. “In that time the wolf is usually fighting your body to stay alive it grows up. Sort of learns to be vicious and take what it needs.”

“But you skipped that part,” Liam stated, grasping the basics of what happened. “So it didn't learn to be vicious? That’s probably a good thing for me. I don’t really need any help being angry.” 

“I’m just glad I didn’t screw it up really badly,” Becca admitted. 

“Well, thanks for that... I hope.” Liam laughed again, but this time it was louder and a little nervous. 

“I’m starving. You probably are too, and you’re going to get in trouble with Scott if we don't go up to the parish house,” Becca said as she climbed to her feet. 

Remembering he was still recovering, Becca held out a hand for Liam. He took it and let her drag him to his feet easily. He grinned like it was awesome she could do that even though she was so much smaller than he was. They were about the same height, he was maybe a little shorter but he was huge, wide and heavily muscled. She was sure he was thinner and much more ick looking when he showed up. He smoothed his hands over his dirty shirt when he realized she was looking him over. 

“Scott will get you some clothes,” Becca assured him. “Or maybe Derek. You can wash up before you eat if you want.” Becca started up toward the house and Liam followed. “You’re hungry, right?” she asked. 

“I’m starving,” he answered quickly. 

“Do you like blackberry pie?” Becca asked. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had it,” Liam admitted. 

“You must be really new,” Becca laughed. “You’ll love it, I promise.”


	15. Right From The Start I Knew

“Give me three reasons we should let him stay,” Derek asked. They were so high up in the nematon no one could hear them talking, but they could hear Liam, Billy and Tommy playing near the parish house. Derek’s legs swinging in the air took a little of the impact away from his parental tone, but he wasn't trying to be a parent, he was trying to take care of his cousin. “Three good reasons,” he added. 

“C’mon, you are not serious.” Becca rolled her eyes. She was leaning sitting on a branch opposite him, her feet propped against his thigh. “You can't kick him out. He’s like--half nematon,” she scoffed. 

Sunset was only a few minutes away, and Becca had run away to brood alone as Derek and Stiles deliberated the Liam situation. Derek had spent hours up in the tree himself brooding. He knew exactly how good it felt to be up at the top with only resurrection ferns for company. He didn't want Becca to think she didn't have a say in how they dealt with Liam, but he did need to know she understood there were rules if he stayed. 

“Three good reasons means none of them can even remotely resemble ‘he’s cute’ or ‘he’s a good kisser’,” Derek insisted. 

“Oh, my god,” Becca hissed. Her cheeks turned red and her head fell back against the branch she was sitting on. “I swear to god I hate you,” she muttered unhappily. “I can't believe you just said that to me.” 

It took a lot to not laugh at the intense display of drama that reminded him so much of Laura before the fire he wanted to take a picture and send it to her out of spite. Secretly it gave Derek a weird sort of thrill when Becca was rebellious and impetuous. It was annoying, but it meant she felt like she was allowed to be that immature. Derek and Gwen had worked hard over the last few months for all of the progress Gwen made. Becca’s age appropriate attitude was the best proof it was paying off. 

“C’mon, three reasons, not getting out of it,” Derek reminded her. 

“Fine, I can give you twenty if you want me to,” Becca challenged. 

“I’ll make it twenty if you--” 

“No! Three, I’ll do three, geez,” Becca said, lifting herself back up to face him properly. Derek nodded, forcing himself to not smile again. “For real, besides the fact he belongs here and you literally can't throw him out unless he’s done something wrong?” Becca reminded him. “He works really hard, like with the garden.” 

“Yes, that is a very good reason,” Derek agreed. 

“He’s been teaching Bobby and the other kids how to play football,” Becca added. “And he takes them all to the river whenever they want to go fishing.” She scowled like there was more. “Everyone trusts him with the kids,” Becca pointed out emphatically. 

“That’s also true,” Derek nodded. “He’s a team player, we do trust him with a lot.” 

“He doesn't have any other family, since his stepdad passed away,” Becca reminded him. 

“You know I appreciate how difficult that is, but there are a lot of orphans in the world and they don't all belong here,” Derek pointed out 

Becca’s expression darkened, her eyebrows drew together in a scowl as she considered the arguments she could make. “He shouldn’t go with Laura,” Becca said unhappily. 

“But you won't tell us, or Laura, why you think that, or talk to Liam about it?” Derek held his hands out trying to show how lost he was about the whole thing. “This is why there’s a discussion to begin with Becca,” Derek pointed out. “You live here, you can’t leave. But, if he goes with Laura for a while it will give you both some time to grow up a little before you’re deep into this relationship you both know you’re heading toward.” 

“That’s exactly why he can't go with Laura,” Becca hissed. 

“Why are you afraid to talk to him about it? Is it because he has anger issues?” Derek asked. 

“No,” Becca responded too quickly. “No, really, that’s not it,” she insisted. 

“Then what is it?” Derek asked. 

“I can't lie to him,” Becca admitted. 

“It’s almost impossible for us to lie to each other. Why do you need to lie anyways?” Derek asked. 

“Oh, my god,” Becca said angrily. “I am so mad at you for making me tell you this.” She tucked her hands under her arms and looked down at the ground. 

Having the conversation was never going to be easy. They had been trying to figure out what to do with Liam ever since he and Becca went to New Orleans for a weekend and left a note behind saying they would be back soon. Two sixteen year old kids shouldn't be allowed to get away with that. Thankfully everyone agreed with him. Becca wasn't talking anytime soon so Derek honed in on what she was watching on the ground below. 

Tommy and Liam were chasing each other around the parish house. Tommy was gleefully screaming and Liam was pretending he was going to attack viciously if he caught up. 

“No!” Tommy shouted, turning around to face Liam bravely. Liam scooped him up threw him over his shoulder, growling playfully. “You’re doing it wrong!” Tommy complained loudly. He struggled to get down from Liam’s shoulder. Liam put and arm underneath him so they were face to face. “Do it right!” Tommy demanded. 

“Dude, we talked about this,” Liam said quietly. 

“They like the face!” Tommy insisted. “Everyone likes the face!” It wasn't really true, but everyone liked Tommy, and all the werewolves, so they didn't say anything. “Grr Face!” he shouted in frustration. When Liam gave in and shifted Tommy giggled like it was the best thing ever. “Yellow!” he shouted, demanding Liam change his eyes too. “Blue! do blue now!” Tommy waited, his hands on Liam’s cheeks. “I like blue the best,” he decided. 

Liam laughed and put him down before falling to the ground next to Tommy. “You are a weird little kid,” he said. 

“Derek has blue eyes,” Tommy said as he ripped up some grass and put it on Liam’s shirt. “Play dead. You’re getting buried,” Tommy decided. 

“Derek has like, weird green eyes,” Liam said. 

“He has yellow, blue and red,” Tommy said matter-of-fact. “Then Scott is red, Derek is blue, You’re yellow, but only for a while.” 

“Oh, huh. I think I get it,” Liam said. “I wonder what that means?” he said to himself more than Tommy. 

“No more talking,” Tommy demanded. 

“I know, I’m dead,” Liam laughed. 

“No, they can hear you,” Tommy whispered. 

“Who--”

“No!” Tommy shouted, throwing a fistful of grass at Liam. 

“We shouldn't listen anymore. He knows we can hear him,” Becca said quietly. 

“But how?” Derek asked. 

“Brainwaves basically float around in the air,” Becca gestured to her head. “At least that’s my theory so far. Maybe he’s talking to ghosts. They’re earthbound though?” 

“Can we get back to our discussion?” Derek asked. 

Becca sighed and let her head fall back again. “This is the worst, you know that? It’s like my version of having to explain my period to my dad,” she said uncomfortably. 

“I know all about periods, and I probably know all about whatever you’re going to say,” Derek promised. 

“It’s because of the pack connection,” Becca admitted. “I can't tell Liam I don't want him to be around my pack because I need to be able to hide things from him.”

“Laura and Cora would never say anything,” Derek assured her. 

“It’s not like, personal embarrassing stuff Derek. It’s like, death, gods, destruction, my dad who looks like a zombie,” Becca huffed. “I’m kind laying it all on him slow, you know?” 

“You’re not going to scare him away,” Derek assured her. 

“Yeah, but why does it all have to be so fucking heavy right away?” Becca insisted. She sat up and leaned toward him. “I just want it to be fun for a while, maybe stay fun because we don't have to deal with all this shit at once?” She looked Derek in the eye expectantly, finally speaking openly. “He didn't grow up here, remember? He was human.” 

Finally understanding, Derek felt stupid and blind. It had been so long since he even socialized with a regular, uneducated human, he forgot what it was like. “He has no idea about most of this shit,” Derek sighed. “Alright,” he nodded. “You have a really good point.” 

“He’s also sixteen,” Becca reminded him. “He is not that emotionally mature. Like, really far from anywhere near emotionally mature enough to not accidentally be a huge asshole about half of this shit, and I really want to keep liking him as much as I do.” Becca dropped her arms like she was fed up, and worn out already even though she was only barely sixteen herself. 

Derek didn't blame her. “Christ Becca,” he cursed, angry at himself. “I’m an idiot. This isn’t your responsibility. Telling him about all that stuff is our responsibility. We decide when he knows, and we’ll talk to you if you’re involved.”

“But I have to be honest with him about things,” Becca argued. “I feel terrible when he doesn’t remember I can hear him in the bathroom.” 

“No,” Derek laughed, but he stopped himself trying not to lose the point of the conversation. “We decide when he knows things. If he asks, you bring him to us and we talk it out together. His education is not your responsibility. It never was, and it never will be.”

“But--”

“Your life is your business. Until he needs to know, he won’t. If the rule is the same with everyone, he won't even question it,” Derek pointed out. “I don’t.” Finally understanding, Becca nodded and slumped over. Derek fell back against his branch, confused as to how he landed so far away from the mark. “I was really sure I was ahead of you on this one.” 

“Never,” Becca scoffed. “Just don't make me explain the hearing thing to him, ever.” 

“No, and there will be no more discussion about the pack thing either, but you have to promise me no more acting like fools,” Derek pressed. “You know you can't do shit like that.” 

“I know,” Becca said quietly. “We just wanted to go away for a while.” 

“You can go whenever you want. You just have to take someone over eighteen with you, and be reasonable about keeping in touch. With your power--”

“Brand new werewolf, unhinged teenage were-witch, I get it,” Becca assured him. 

“Come on, you know I’m not asking anything I wouldn't ask of anyone else barely old enough to drive.” Derek wanted to roll his eyes or be snarky, but he was the adult, even though he had to keep reminding himself of it. “What would you have said if it was Bobby who left a note like that?” 

“I know!” Becca cringed, unhappy with herself, obviously. “I’ll be careful. It was just one time, we were impulsive.” She sighed and glanced up at him like she was about to say something, then stopped and fidgeted with her bracelets instead. 

“Don’t be that kid,” Derek warned. 

“You’re awful,” Becca muttered. “Do you know how weird and embarrassing it is to look at my life from his perspective sometimes?” 

“Yeah, I lived in the middle of a human city for most of my life. I know exactly how weird and alienating it is,” Derek agreed. Becca looked lost and upset. It didn’t seem like what Derek said was enough, so he kept going. “My dad was a changed wolf, not born. He had to explain things to me. Really detailed, gross things about people and smells, and how humans couldn’t smell them.” Derek raised his eyebrows, hoping Becca didn't make him explain it any further. Just the memories themselves were mortifying. 

“I take it all back. I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” Becca laughed. She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled, appropriately embarrassed for him. She stopped suddenly and tucked her hand under her thigh. She wasn't smiling anymore. “It’s been a while. Do you think I should go talk to him?” Becca asked. 

She didn't need to say who, Derek knew she meant Peter. “I think figuring out one new relationship right now is probably enough,” Derek said cautiously. Becca nodded, but her mouth was twisted up in an unforgiving frown. It wasn't for Derek. It was for Peter. She always had the same frown when they talked about Peter. “Laura and Cora are taking really good care of him. He’s fine,” Derek assured her. 

“They are?” Becca asked. 

“Of course. He’s our family. We want to take care of him, but we also think he should stay just the way he is for a while.” Derek didn't say forever like he wanted to. Becca didn't need to know she was the most merciful of all of them. Peter was being well cared for, he would be just fine for a long time. “If you do decide to go see him, promise me you’ll take me with you?” Derek asked. 

“I don’t think I could go alone,” Becca admitted. 

“You won’t ever have to,” Derek promised.


End file.
